Neverending Progress
by tukct81
Summary: Post finale story: The choice wasn't about who she loved or who she wanted to be her boyfriend. Damon was her friend, and she couldn't let him die alone, which was fine, until he didn't die. She now has to juggle her feelings for Damon, her choice to stay with Stefan, and new memories that make her question everything.
1. Chapter 1

**Wow, I never thought I would take this long to get back to another story, but life got in the way, and a lack of new episodes hasn't done wonders for my muse. So for any of my regular readers, any of you remember how I said I would never, ever, ever write another long story after I finished **_**Setting Things Right**_**. Okay for everyone whose hand is in the air, now do you remember how I am a horrible liar and never do what I say I'm gonna do. Yep that's right, you guessed it. I'm starting another story that I know will have at least 10 chapters. I've just been having so many ideas floating around in my head that I couldn't decide on just one, so I meshed them together into one longer story. **

**This story starts right before Elena chooses who to say goodbye to. I hated that she left Damon to die alone, so I rewrote that. I don't object to her picking Stefan, okay I do, but I get it, sort of. I object to how she picked Stefan, so this is my way of writing a more believable, understandable version of events. This story will have more Stelena scenes than I usually write, but this is a solely Delena story. There also is the tiniest hint of spoilers for next season that is based off two new characters and one possible situation, but it isn't in the first few chapters. I hope you all enjoy, and tell me what you think, because I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter.**

"Damon's not with them." Matt reluctantly informs me, as his words cut through me like a bitter cold in February. I barely register the rest of the conversation until my ears perk up at the phrase, "It's your choice." I fucking hate that word. It's haunted me for weeks, and it must be on some word of the day calendar somewhere, because Mystic Falls' residents have been using it like it was going out of style. I've avoided, stalled, given a thousand excuses to escape this moment, but fate it seems is finally forcing my hand. I _have_ to make a choice. He . . . they might die.

It's not fair. I was supposed to have more time. Hell, I fell in love with vampires for God sakes. I was supposed to have eternity. In those few seconds, I'm torn apart thinking about what the Salvatores have meant in my life over the past year and a half. There was Stefan with his gentle support and understanding, never pushing, never questioning, just simple and loving. Then my mind strays to the other Salvatore brother, as it always does without my consent. He's fierce and protective and stubborn and infuriating, but just as loving and loyal to a fault. My heart constricts thinking of losing either one of them, and when it does, I realize that I'm not ready to make this choice yet, not even now. I can't quantify my feelings for one over the other. I can't make a pro/con list and pick whoever looks better on paper.

An epiphany dawns on me in that instant that I don't need to make a choice. Matt's not asking who I love more or who I need more. All he needs is a decision, a destination. The words leave my mouth before I take a moment to second guess them. "Keep driving Matt and hurry." I tell myself that I'm not driving towards Damon because I pick him. I'm doing it because despite everything else, he is my friend, and I can't leave him. Stefan is surrounded by people who love and support him, and we already said our goodbyes. Damon is alone in a storage locker and his only friend in the world is gone. And if this is the end, I can't let him die like that.

Matt keeps his eyes on the road and doesn't look back at me, because unlike everybody else, he doesn't have a dog in this fight. He doesn't care who I choose or who I end up with. He only wants me to be happy, so he doesn't need to give me a smile of approval or a look of scornful condemnation. His indifference towards my decision makes me more appreciative for his presence in my life than all my other friends put together. Matt's refusal to pick a side has allowed me to be honest and open with him. I confide in Matt things that I would never tell another soul for fear that they would judge me. Matt's the one person who never did. For just a second, I regret that I couldn't have loved him like he wanted. We would've gotten married, had two or three kids, adopted a puppy, and grown old together. It would have been so delightfully normal, but if the past year has taught me anything, it's that I wasn't meant for a normal life. Instead of spend endless amounts of time regretting a life not lived, I stare out into the darkness and watch the trees pass by as I shut out the fear of what the next hour will bring.

Matt's lead foot gets us there in almost half the time. Neither of us says a word the whole way there, because words don't mean much in a time like this. Comforting words would seem disingenuous and anything else would be far too depressing. So when we finally arrive at our destination, all I can say is, "Thank you for kidnapping me." My answer startles him and he looks back at me expectantly, for an explanation. "If you hadn't," I add, "I never would have gotten here in time," I remind him with an expression that could never hope to express my gratitude. Matt offers a shadow of a smile to me and turns back on his car to race back to Mystic Falls, just in case he still has time to say goodbye. I look at the time on my phone and realize that he will never make it. It took half an hour to make it here, and if Klaus turned their bloodline, they will be long since dead before Matt crosses the city limits. Matt gave up a chance at a goodbye with Tyler and Caroline just so I could see Damon one last time, but I can't bring myself to feel guilty about that, not yet anyway.

I try to swallow my grief and focus on the task at hand. I race into the facility and shout Damon's name into the emptiness. Two seconds pass before he speeds two feet in front of me. Shock, surprise, joy, and confusion all fight for dominance on Damon's face as he tries to process that I'm really here, that I chose to say goodbye to_ him_. I take a small step towards Damon closing the distance between us and I bury my face in his leather jacket. I try to memorize every smell that is so uniquely Damon just in case I never get another chance. There is the leather from his jacket, the hint of bourbon that is always on his lips, and the unidentifiable smell that is just him. I'd give anything to stay like this forever, just freeze time and shut out the rest of the world, but I can't. This is really happening and that thought brings the first tears to my eyes.

Damon's hands find their way to my back, tracing small circles that spread warmth through my entire body, as I release a few tears that I am incapable of holding inside. He's the one who may be dying, yet Damon's comforting me. I pull away and try to suppress all the negative emotions and bad feelings that are threatening to consume me. I'm sure comforting me as I'm hysterically crying is not how Damon envisioned his last hour on Earth, so I do something for him, just for him, I rationalize to myself.

My head lifts up until it is an inch from Damon's face, and lean closer until our lips are just barely touching. The second Damon senses the contact; our sweet tender kiss erupts into an almost violent coupling. Damon kisses me with a need and hunger and he holds so tight, as if I'm his salvation and his life. The intense make out seems without end. There are no friends or brothers to walk in on us. There is no one to stop us, so of course Damon stops it himself, because apparently someone has to. He waits till we both regain higher order thinking before he elaborates as to why words are so damn important at this moment.

"I need to know," he states, as he stares right through me, searching my face for answers. I play dumb because this is the worst possible time to have this discussion.

"You could die in the next twenty minutes. Is talking really what you want to do right now?" I question him, hoping that he'll drop it. He laughs a little at my remark and stares hopefully into my eyes.

"Yes, as it turns out I am that much of a masochist," Damon replies sarcastically. The tone of the moment turns serious as Damon never breaks eye contact and talks in a softer voice that he reserves for those rare moments of vulnerability. "I need to know why you're here," Damon declares decisively. "I need you to answer right now, because I might _not_ die today. And if I don't, I want to start my life again, whether that's with you or without you." My heart gives another telltale clench as I think about my life without him. He can't possibly be bringing this up now, not when we don't know if he'll live to see tomorrow.

"And it has to be right now?" I ask, begging him to put this conversation off for just one more day. One more day and I'll be ready I tell myself unconvincingly.

"Yes," Damon answers with certainty, and he crushes me hopes of avoidance, "because if we wait till you know I'll be okay, you'll chicken out. You'll drag this out till kingdom come, and because you'll never be as honest as you are right now, when you think I'm gonna die."

He's right. It's one of his more annoying traits. He's always right. The most honest I've ever been with him was on his death bed the night of the werewolf bite. There is a freedom in honesty when you don't think you'll have to deal with the consequences. The difference is that back then, I was sure he was dying. Now he might live, especially if Klaus keeps up his consistent record of lying and manipulation. These are consequences that I'm not sure I can live with, but I don't have a choice. How do you turn down a possibly dying man? Damon holds the trump card in this discussion and he knows it.

"It's not as simple as you think," I try to explain. "I know you assume I'm supposed to choose who I love more or who I want more, but this choice was never about that. I made a decision weeks ago." I hesitate to continue, even though I know Damon is hanging on my every word. After a few seconds of silence, his face drops and he understands, too well, the choice I made. The words are unnecessary, but I say them anyway, because I need to, just to make them real. "I decided to stay with Stefan," I tell him, nearly choking on the words. "I didn't know how to tell you, because the last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you. But you need to know, I'm not going back to him because I love him more or because I love you less."

Damon's hand flies up in a stopping motion, not wanting to hear anymore.

"Don't Elena. You don't have to soften the blow or . . ."

"I'm not," I interrupt forcefully. His face is laced with skepticism. He doesn't believe me. It's hard to blame him. I'm not sure I'd believe me either. I think the words 'it's always gonna be Stefan' are probably tattooed on his fragile psyche. I find it difficult to search for the right words to help him understand. Words seem so meaningless at a time like this, which is difficult for any writer to admit. But when words are all you have left, they mean a great deal.

"I'm staying with Stefan because our relationship never ended," I admit reluctantly. I'm not sure if the truth makes it better or worse, but I can't take the unbearable silence as Damon gazes back at me with an inscrutable expression, so I continue. "Stefan and I were in love and happy, and then he was gone. I never stopped feeling like his girlfriend, and that's why I feel so guilty for what I feel for you. It isn't fair to start something with you if I'm still looking back at him." My explanation somehow feels insufficient or hollow. When you break someone's heart does the reason really matter? They're hurt, you're sorry, but it doesn't change anything. Damon takes the longest five seconds in history to process what I've just said before responding in his usual flippant manner.

"Hate to point out the flaw in your logic princess, but don't you run into the same problem if you choose him, but want me." He's getting angry. That's good. Anger's better than the alternative. Maybe if he hates me, then he'll finally be free of me, and I won't be able to hurt him anymore. I want that for him, I do, but I can't bring myself to say something cruel. I can't force myself to push him further away, because he's the one person who is supposed to truly know me, for better or worse, so I need _him_, of all people, to know the truth.

"No," I answer automatically, "because Stefan isn't asking me for my whole heart, and you are." Damon wasn't just asking for a chance. He wasn't just asking to be my boyfriend. He wanted forever. Damon has waited almost a century and a half for someone to promise to love him for all time, and I'm not there yet. I'm 18 years old, and I'm not ready.

"Stefan is just grateful if I pick him," I elaborate distantly, not wanting to lose myself in Damon's pure blue eyes. "But you want all of me, and I can't give that to you now. I have to know if what Stefan and I have is forever, or if it's just for right now." There's a flicker of understanding underneath a layer of pain and rejection with a light gloss of resentment to top it all off.

"So what, you're asking me to wait, possibly forever, for you to get over Stefan?" Damon asks bitterly. "Basically back to our general status quo."

"No," I correct him for the third time that night. "I'm asking you to let me go, and promising that I'll try and do the same. You need to move on and live your own life again, and trust that if we're supposed to end up together that we'll find a way back." That tiny ray of hope slips past my lips without my approval, and as much as I want to take it back, knowing it's better to be cruel to be kind; I can't bring myself to do it. Hope is what our relationship is built on. Hope that maybe, someday things could be different, and I'm not ready to let that go just yet.

"Trust and hope not exactly strong suits," Damon remarks more lighthearted than I'm sure he feels. He takes a seat next to the car and I sit down next to him and take his hand, because he could still die, and I swore he wouldn't do it alone.

"Lately I'm struggling with them myself," I hesitantly confess, not wanting to discuss how much the past year has beaten my optimistic nature to miniscule proportions.

Damon flashes a mysterious smile in my direction and asks, "Any chance we can rewind back before I was an idiot and stopped kissing you."

It's impossible not to laugh, because Damon's sarcasm is irresistible even in the most dire of circumstances. "I wish we could," I answer regretfully. I glance at my phone and realize that an hour has passed, and Damon's still alive. Klaus lied. Before I have a chance to share my joyful news, we hear someone's voice behind us.

"Wishes are troublesome things," a familiar voice remarks. We whip around to see a very pissed off Alaric standing there with the white oak stake. "See I was wishing to knock off two originals from my list. I mean I did come all this way, gas prices being what they are; I can't help feeling a little disappointed. _You_," Ric says pointing his stake at Damon, "ruined my whole plan. What are we going to do about that?"

Damon is in action mode and he steps protectively in front of me. "Elena, run," Damon barks out at me.

"No," I reply back just as powerfully. "He's not gonna hurt me. I'm not leaving you."

Before I can utter another word, Alaric rushes Damon and I hear the snapping of his neck before my eyes can recognize what's happened. Ric picks up the stake and my eyes search the floor for a weapon to stop him, and yes, I do realize how ridiculous it is me taking on an all-powerful vampire, but I have to do something. My eyes catch on a utility knife on the ground, and I pick it up, holding it against my throat. "You touch him and this knife slices my carotid artery," I threaten menacingly. Damon's not the only one who can do scary, badass protective.

Ric laughs at my little stunt. "That trick might have worked once, but I'm not stupid. You're not going to leave Jeremy all alone over one dead vampire." Ric wraps his hand around the stake and walks towards Damon.

"You have no idea what I would do to save him," I whisper to myself, before slicing my throat in one quick motion. The pain isn't what registers as the blood pours from my body. All I can see is Alaric falling down, weakened, and Damon is still okay. He's going to live. That thought comforts me until my heart gives its last beat and the light is replaced with darkness, signaling the end of my human life.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter took longer than I wanted it too and it is shorter than I originally intended, but I've been sick these past couple days, and only now am I breaking through the haze of illness and medicine. I really want to thank everyone who reviewed alerted, and favorited this story. It means so much, especially the people who take time to review. You guys are really the best. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. **

Before rational thought reenters my brain, the predator in me registers the smell of blood that fills the cold, dank storage facility. My vampire instincts call out to the source of the smell until a memory reminds me of how I ended up on a concrete floor with a snapped neck. Through the fear of the moment, I have only one remaining terrifying thought, Elena.

I remain flat on my back staring at the ceiling willing myself to wake up from this nightmare. Human blood has a distinctive smell, not quite as fragrant as vampire blood, but all the more addictive. For the first time in 146 years, the scent makes me physically nauseous, because I know that it has to be _hers_. Elena is the only human in the entire facility, and I'm still alive, despite Ric's rather determined attempts to kill me. The realist in me knows there are only a couple of ways that this could go, and none of them end happily for Elena.

Slowly I lift myself up off the floor and the sight before me is straight out of some cheap horror movie, young heroine with her throat slashed lying dead on the floor. If I do still have a heart after all these years, it's dropped into my stomach and shattered, poking its rough edges on my insides, causing greater agony than a vervain scented bubble bath.

No, not her, it's not possible. It's not fair. We did everything right. We sacrificed everything, and everyone in the pursuit of one goal; keep her alive, and we failed. _I _failed, because she sacrificed herself for _me_. The evidence lying at her feet only confirms my suspicions. The small utility knife soaked in her blood is clutched tightly in her hands, and Alaric's dead body provides the motive. She killed herself to save me. No, not just me, I tell myself. She saved Stefan, Caroline, and Tyler. That's who she did it for. That's who she truly cared about. It has to be about them, because in all the stories I read growing up, the hero sacrificed himself for a great cause, for a great person, not for a mass murderer with a hint of a conscience. I need to believe that this isn't my fault, because that thought is the only thing keeping me from jamming Alaric's stake right through my own heart.

I crawl over next to her and place her delicate, beautiful young face in my lap as I stroke her hair. One minute, sixty seconds, that's all I give myself to wallow in self-pity and guilt before I come up with a plan, because I do not accept this. Elena Gilbert has faced down way worse odds than an unkillable vampire slayer. She doesn't just get to die on some cold dirty floor like she's nothing, not this girl, not this day, so I call on a little witchy help with ties to the other side.

Luckily, I don't have to wait long for a response and Bonnie answers, obviously distracted, until I gain her full attention. "Elena's dead," I deliver in an emotionless tone that would fool even my brother into thinking that I've flipped my switch. It's not as if I'm not tempted, because that button deep inside me calls louder than it ever has. No creature, living or dead was ever meant to hurt this much, feel this much. That's why that blasted switch was created in the first place, but I can't. Until I know that she's truly gone, I can't give up, because flipping that switch is an act of forfeit. It means acceptance and it means I've given up on her, and I'm not prepared to do that just yet, so I scream stop into the phone to end Bonnie's cries of grief.

"I have a plan," I declare, refocusing her attention. "You saved baby Gilbert from the eternal sleep once before. You can do it with Elena. Call on your judgy little ancestors to bring her back."

Bonnie's voice cracks, but she no longer sounds inconsolable. She understands the stakes and returns to being moderately helpful. "It's not that simple, Damon."

"I'm making it that simple," I snap right back at her.

"There are consequences to tapping into that kind of magic," Bonnie warns reproachfully.

"So she sees a few ghosts now and then. She might like that. You know how she's always talking about hating to lose more people. This sounds like a win-win," I respond, heavy on the sarcasm.

I expect another witty comeback or at least a condemnation of my glib attitude, but instead the witch surprises me. Her voice lowers and it is filled with something that remarkably resembles sympathy, which I think is meant for me. "I know you want to save her. I do too, but the witches might not even give me the power to save her. I'm not exactly on their Christmas list at the moment."

"Please," I beg with all my strength left and all the civility that I can muster. "Bonnie, I need her. _You_ need her. I believe that you can find a way. You always do. All I'm asking is that you try." There is dead silence on the other end that I actually think Bonnie has hung up on me.

"Okay," Bonnie finally relents, after trying to give me a heart attack. "Bring her back, and I'll do what I can." Despite her hesitation that almost gave me an aneurysm, I'm grateful for her help, since I know she still hates me.

"Thank you," are the last words I say before hanging up with a heavy sigh of relief. There's a plan. I can still fix this. There is only one more call to make before Elena and I embark on the journey back home. He can't hear from anybody else. I owe him more than that.

Stefan answers in a panic, asking about me, asking about Elena, and I actually feel tongue tied. In about three seconds, my little brother's gonna hate me again, just when we were starting to get along. He'll never forgive me for taking away the epic love of his life. I don't even forgive me, how could he?

"I have a plan," I clarify first, so I don't have a full scale meltdown like with Bonnie. "I'm handling it, but you need to know that Elena died." Even with my vampire hearing, the only discernible noise is the sound of Stefan's labored breathing. It becomes short and stifled, like he is having a panic attack, which is exactly the wrong time for this type of reaction. "Hold it together," I order harshly. Empathy and understanding are emotions I can cultivate later, but right now I need Stefan focused and on point.

"How did she die?" Stefan asks, clearly as heartbroken as I am, but I can't bring myself to tell him the truth.

"Bonnie's going to bring her back, so we can waste more time talking about how, or we can fix it, your choice." I reply, more harshly than I intended, but clearly making my position known.

"What do you need me to do?" Stefan questions, suddenly remembering how to be a useful member of society.

"Meet me at the old witch house in an hour and bring Bonnie," I command before pressing the end button.

Hard part is over I tell myself as I load Elena into the car. I place her gently into the front seat. While it might cause some trouble with the police if I'm caught with a dead girl in my passenger's seat, I can't bear to put her in the trunk. That is where the dead bodies go, before I find a nice secluded spot to bury them. It's not the place for Elena, so I strap her in and start the car. I try to turn the music up loud to drown out the silence of the drive. I stare straight ahead and for a few brief seconds, I can delude myself into thinking that she's only sleeping. I pass the sign for Mystic Falls when a sharp gasp echoes over the radio, and the shock of seeing new life breathed into Elena causes me to lose control of the car, and I crash it into a tree.

"I thought vampires were supposed to have good reflexes," Elena jokes as she casually exits Klaus' totaled car. I have to admit I was a little underwhelmed. You expect a person's first words after coming back from the dead would be a little more profound and a little less cheeky, but that's Elena, always bucking convention. For a minute, my mind is racing trying to explain how Elena can still be alive. Her own state of shock wears off quickly, which I realize after she almost tackles me to the ground with a giant hug. "You're not dead," Elena proclaims ecstatically. She starts jumping up and down like a four year old, and because she hasn't let go of me, I sort of am as well.

"Why are we so happy? What's with the jumping?" I ask her perplexed, an expression that seems to amuse Elena to no end.

"Because I saved you," she states matter of factly. "Feel free to thank me anytime. I accept cards, gifts, flowers, and chocolates. Whatever you think is enough for saving your life, again."

I grab hold of Elena's shoulders to stop her jumping around, so we can have a serious conversation, because I have a sneaking suspicion what is responsible for Elena's 'miraculous' recovery. "Elena," I proceed cautiously, not wanting to overwhelm her. "I may not have died, but I think you did."

"Huh," she responds, looking at me like I've gone mental.

"You're in transition," I explain calmly.

The color drains from her face and all traces of excitement or joy are replaced with a deep sadness, because she knows that she has an impossible choice to make, and she doesn't have much time. She can either become a vampire, the one thing that she never wanted to be, or she can choose to end her life at 18, and leave her loved ones in shambles. I have to convince her to complete the transition. I already lost her once, and I won't lose her again just when she came back to me. The situation is further complicated when my brother wins the award for worst timing ever. He speeds in between me and Elena. Well its official, Mr. Free Will has arrived. She's dead.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	3. Chapter 3

**So sorry for the late update again, but I was busy moving my roommate out of our apartment. Quick bit of advice to my readers, avoid moving at all costs. It really sucks. Anyways, I wanted to give a very special thank you to all of the people who have favorited, alerted, or reviewed this story. You guys are the sole reason that I write and I love hearing and responding to each and every one of you. A special thank you goes out to all of my reviewers who comment as guests, because I can't respond to you personally. Just know that I love your words of encouragement, and they mean the world to me. I hope you all enjoy.**

Stefan looks back and forth between Damon and me, pleading silently for an answer to my sudden resurrection. "I'm in transition," I offer simply, unsure how to sugar coat I killed myself to save your brother and came back as a member of the undead. It doesn't quite roll off the tongue, and I'm not sure how much Damon told his brother about the circumstances surrounding my untimely demise.

There's a moment of silence, a second of solemn tranquility to mourn the passing of the dearly departed. Stefan's eyes are glued to mine, not even blinking. While I used to be able to read Stefan's face like an engrossing novel, now his face looks deadened and empty, like he's looking straight through me. I've never felt more like a living corpse.

Damon's face betrays his indecision, likely torn between whether to respond with gentle urging or a false sense of levity. Fortunately, he decides on the latter, which is a welcome contrast to Stefan's melancholy despair.

"Okay, so you died," Damon concedes, casually remarking on the state of my afterlife. "It happens every day, no need to get all melodramatic about the whole thing. A few pints of O negative and this little problem will be well under control."

It seems so simple. My body already hungers for it, that undeniable thirst that I know will never be sated. But can I really live with the desire to hurt innocent people . . . forever? Eternity always seemed like such an abstract concept before, and I never allowed myself to dwell on what it really meant, hundreds of birthdays, traveling the world, watching life change all around me, living, loving, for all time. It sounded like a dream, but as Rebekah so eloquently reminded me once, eternity has a heavy price. The bloodlust I could maybe accept, but never settling down and resigning myself to the fact that any human I ever love will one day die. Am I prepared to live with that compromise? Jeremy, Bonnie, and Matt will all grow old, if they're lucky, and they'll be lost to illness or old age or accident, and I'll have to stand at the side of every casket and say goodbye. I can't. It's too much. All the emotions that I've been numb to since I woke up come rushing in.

My own thoughts start to overwhelm me, and the added irritation of feeling uncomfortable in my own skin isn't helping. Stefan tries to console me. He wraps his arms around me like he has a hundred times before. He whispers words of encouragement about how everything's going to be okay. Abruptly, I break apart and I take five steps away, because for the first time, Stefan's embrace isn't comforting, it's suffocating. I don't need a shoulder to cry on. I need a solution. I need a way forward and lies about how this will all work out only serve to royally piss me off.

Stefan approaches me like he would a wild animal, afraid that I'll bolt into the forest at the slightest provocation. "You don't have to complete the transition if you don't want to," Stefan promises.

Damon interjects with a fiery anger in his voice that I'm sure is directed at his little brother. "I'm sorry, but while you're busy with your little vampire assisted suicide, I'd like to focus on fighting for her life. It would be great if we were on the same page about saving _your_ girlfriend."

"It's her choice, Damon," Stefan fires back with a hint of a warning.

"I'm not going to shove the nearest motorist down her throat, but I'm not going to sit idly by while you extol the virtues of dying for the good of humanity."

Damon is now only an inch away from his brother's face, and just a minute away from shoving Stefan into the ground and pounding on his face to release all his frustrations. They are so ramped up in anger at each other that it takes a minute for either to realize that I've run off towards the woods.

I find a fallen log and take a seat, knowing that Damon and Stefan won't be far away. I'm surprised when ten minutes passes before a snapping twig alerts me to Damon's presence. "Your tracking skills must be as rusty as your reflexes if it took you this long to find me," I joke lightheartedly, like nothing's changed.

"Well after you quite literally ran away, I figured you needed some space, so I gave you a bit of a head start." His classic smirk fills his face, though not quite reaching the corners of his beautiful blue eyes.

I smile back at him, for just a minute. Because sitting here on this dirty log in the middle of an unknown forest, I feel normal again. I feel like me again, but it can't last. So the minute his smirk dies down, I address the big elephant in the forest.

"I never wanted this," I whisper softly, gazing back at Damon's picturesque face that morphs into an unnatural sadness.

"You got dealt a crappy hand Elena," Damon states seriously.

I snort in mocking derision. "You think?" I respond bitterly, taking my anger out on the nearest warm or cold body.

"Your life should've been more than this," Damon replies, ignoring my infantile response. His gaze avoids any direct contact with mine, afraid of what he'll see in my eyes, but the moonlight catches just right, and his expression fills my heart with sorrow. His face betrays his true age, and his voice suddenly sounds as if it belongs to an old man, one scarred by pain and loss. Damon might fool the world with his youthful good looks, but today he carries every second of his nearly 170 years on his shoulders. The bitterness in his tone only comes from decades of bad breaks and painful disappointments.

"In a just world," Damon begins deep in thought, "you would've gotten the whole damn Hallmark package, a nice normal boy to love, a white picket fence and decades of growing older surrounded by children and grandchildren. You should've had the fucking American dream, but instead you fell in love with a vampire, you were born a supernatural doppelganger and your life ended tonight at 18, so you don't get to be like everybody else," Damon admits with a type of weary acceptance.

I want to interrupt, say anything. But right now, Damon's the only one who seems to understand me, and he's the only guide that I've got. So I stay silent, and for once, listen to the words of wisdom from someone older and wiser.

"I understand," Damon confesses, "wanting to leave it all behind and just let go." He pauses and looks straight into my eyes begging; in a way that I rarely see from the usually arrogant vampire. "You can't," he informs me like the decision has already been made. "You don't get to."

This response awakens my hidden temper and I jump up from the log feeling a sense of something, life maybe, because I never feel more alive than when I'm yelling at Damon. Go figure, right.

"Why not? Give me one good reason, why I can't let myself die, like Bill Forbes got to." I demand and answer, because I'm tired of being so fucking special.

"You really need the whole list, fine," Damon remarks with a fierce determination. "You can't give up because Jeremy's lost every parental figure he's ever had, because Stefan thinks his humanity depends on your loving him, because Caroline lost her dad, because Bonnie lost her mom, because Matt lost his sister, and because tonight I lost my only friend," Damon finishes with gusto. He tries to hide the tear that slides down his cheek, but I instinctively move to wipe it away, holding my hand on his cheek for longer than necessary. His hand joins mine and he pleads for what seems like the hundredth time tonight.

"Don't make me lose you too, because I can't live knowing that you're dead because of me," Damon confesses hopelessly. "Stefan would never forgive me for taking away his epic love and even if he could, I would never forgive myself. Like it or not, you're the glue that holds this warped little family together. Without you, we'd all crumble, so I'm asking you, to live, if not for yourself, if not for them, then live for me." His request catches me by surprise, because his reasons thus far have all been about other people, but this is for him. Damon's stood by my side as my tireless protector, even when I didn't appreciate him. I don't know how to deny him one of the only favors he's ever asked of me.

"I don't want to die," I admit, barely holding it together. "I don't want to leave you all alone, but I don't know how to justify putting innocent lives at risk just to save my own."

"Would you do it to save my life?" Damon questions me unexpectedly. I stare at him in puzzlement before answering.

"Of course I would," I reply automatically.

"Well you proved tonight that you would rather die than live without me. What makes you think I feel any different? Just look at my track record if you don't believe me. I thought I lost someone that I loved once and I spent 145 years a bitter, angry, shell of who I used to be, and I'd go right back to that dark place if you give up now. There would be nothing left to fight for. Ric and you would be dead, Stefan would hate me, and everyone else already hates me. I'd be as good as dead."

"Don't say that," I command forcefully, not willing to let Damon of all people give up.

"I know you see the world in moral terms, right and wrong, good and bad, but it's not that simple," Damon urges me to believe him. "Dying for someone who loves you isn't noble. It's tragic, and selfish, and cruel, and it leaves everyone the worse for it, but living for someone, that's heroic, that's honorable. So I'll ask just one more time, be strong, fight, for me." For a moment I'm rendered speechless. I don't know what I've done in my life to deserve such unfailing loyalty, but I feel unworthy of it.

"I know you think that this will break you," I acknowledge honestly. "But you're stronger than you know, and I've never been any good for you. All I've ever done is break your heart. Do you really want me to live so we can continue the never-ending tragedy that is our screwed up little triangle forever?" I ask, confident that I've found some logic that he'll respond to.

"Yes," Damon replies instantaneously. He doesn't even give me a moment to recover from the certainty in his answer. "I would take centuries of nauseating lovey doveyness with Stefan over a corpse in the ground any day, so yes I choose you, over the pain, the heartbreak, all of it, I choose to feel that pain with you than feel nothing without you," Damon swears whole heartedly. I swallow the beginnings of tears before finding my voice again.

"I really don't deserve you, you know," I mumble softly in response.

Damon flashes a bittersweet smile as he tells me, "Let's agree to disagree on that one. How about you lift this rather depressing gray cloud hanging over all of us, and just give me an answer. Are you completing the transition or not?"

"I . . . I need more time," I answer, still conflicted. "Please, I just don't know what to do right now."

Damon heaves a frustrated sigh, but he nods his head in agreement. "I guess alive or dead you still can't make a decision. Seeing as how this may possibly be your last night on Earth, what now?" Damon asks expectantly.

"Let's go home. These woods are seriously creepy," I joke with a real smile on my face. We walk back towards the totaled car unsure of what the next 24 hours will bring. I grasp Damon's hand tightly, holding it as if it was my anchor, to my humanity, to my life, to everything.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the long wait, but this week has been kind of insane. Just a quick warning, there are some slight spoilers in this chapter. I introduce a character that is going to be in the premiere, and a situation that is rumored to be happening in the first episode, but I am mostly taking a lot of artistic license with what happens, because I really don't know. I also want to warn you guys that there will be Stelena in this chapter, and not really any Damon and Elena interaction, but it won't be all rainbows and roses for this fledgling couple. Please let me know what you think by leaving a comment at the bottom, and I hope you all enjoy.**

The closer Damon and I step towards the crashed car, the looser Damon's grip on my hand becomes. Once Stefan is within sight, he releases it entirely and puts nearly six feet of space between us, and my heart drops a tiny bit at the forced distance. The intimacy of our stolen moment of tranquility in the forest has passed and cruel reality has returned. Stefan doesn't ask what transpired between Damon and I in the woods, and neither of us make any moves to fill in the blanks. Instead we choose an incredibly awkward silence to fill the minutes as Stefan rushes home to grab a car to take us all back to the boardinghouse.

On the car ride home, all of us are afraid to speak, afraid to breathe, as if a single word would start a domino effect that would lead us all towards mutual destruction. So we sit in silence, waiting, more uncertain than ever about our collective futures. The killing of the engine is what startles me from my inner thoughts, and before I can stop him, Damon makes an excuse, and leaves Stefan and me alone. Damon offers to fill everyone in on my 'condition' as I've taken to calling it, and he disappears right before my eyes.

It occurs to me, as I'm starring at the empty space that Damon once occupied, that he's actually trying to respect my wishes, because even if I do die tonight, I still chose Stefan. That choice which seemed so important a few hours ago, now feels entirely meaningless. Is it even still valid? I signed up for giving our relationship another chance, but _eternity_. How can anyone promise that, then I remember that Stefan did. He once told me standing on that hilltop months ago, that if it was his choice he would want to be with me forever, but right now, I can't promise him the same.

But I've got bigger problems than my future romantic entanglements, like if I'll even have a future, so I rush up to my old room before Stefan has a chance to object. As I walk through the doorway, I realize it is exactly as I left it. This place was my second home over the summer. I would crash here on those late nights when Damon and I would lose track of time. Either we were pouring over police reports searching for Stefan, or he was engaging in his rather transparent attempts at cheering me up.

In the beginning, it happened every other day. Damon would notice me falling into a funk or losing myself in my never ending quest for Stefan, and he would find some excuse and turn some music on or break out the 'good stuff' as Damon called it. On nights when the situation was truly dire, he would invite me (a.k.a. pester me until I gave in) to dance with him, and not let me free from his grasp until he saw a trace of a smile on my face. I would always give in, never questioning why Damon suddenly felt the need to liven up the mood. It was our unspoken deal, to take a break from life for five minutes, and those five minutes could sometimes get me through the next five days without breaking down. It was comforting, knowing that even without Jenna, John, or Stefan, I still had one person left in my life looking out for me.

This room is a reminder of the best parts of that summer. Because even amidst the grief of loss, and the fear that Stefan might never return, there were these brief moments of joy in the face of tragedy, and I want to hold onto those.

My nostalgic reminiscing is interrupted by Stefan's presence at my door. He doesn't knock, speak, or make any moves to enter the room, and I don't expect him to. That's not his way. Stefan standing there, waiting for me to open up or come rushing into his arms, which pretty much describes our entire relationship in a nutshell. He'd never push me into this, but I can feel the words that he's not saying filling the room, so I decide to break up the discomfort myself.

"Is this the part where you tell me it's my choice," I ask quietly, with a sad smile gracing my lips. Stefan is nothing if not predictable.

"Yes," he admits predictably, "but it's also the part where I tell you that no one should force you into this, and I'll fight for your chance to decide to very end," Stefan swears determined. He's prepared for a fight. I can see it in his eyes, but a fight for what, to let me die.

Frustration builds and my voice takes on a defensive, protective edge, because that saying about assuming and making an ass out of yourself comes to mind. "He wouldn't do that," I emphatically argue. "I know it's easy to paint Damon as the bad guy, honestly I think he prefers it that way. But after what happened last May, he would _never_ take that choice away from me again."

Stefan chuckles a little at my own assumption. "I was actually talking about Matt and Jeremy. They've both gotten a little vigilante happy as of late, and I half expect them to open up a vein to tempt you into transitioning."

"Oh," I reply awkwardly, more than a little embarrassed at my mistake. "For what its worth I'm sorry," I apologize sincerely, filling my voice with warmth and comfort, which I think we both need right now.

"Easy mistake to make," he admits, letting me off the hook.

"No, not about that," I correct him quickly, cutting him off in the process.

"Then what?" Stefan questions me, puzzled at my sudden contrition.

"I'm sorry that I never wanted this," I state plainly, hoping Stefan can sense the truth in my words. When he doesn't speak for a few seconds, I just start babbling like an idiot. "I'm sorry that I'm not like that girl from _Twilight_ begging you to turn me so we can spend eternity together. And I'm sorry that you fell in love with a confused teenage girl with a conflicted heart." Stefan listens to my confession, and pulls me closer, trying to hug this problem away. It might not fix anything, but it feels normal, safe, so I don't pull away. I whisper softly against his shoulder. "If it means anything, I might have gone to Damon, but I chose you."

Stefan pulls away in a state of shock, and has only one word to say to me. "Why?"

I almost stumble over my own words. We dated for almost a year. I moved heaven and Earth to bring him home and he wonders _why_ I chose to stay with him.

"I just mean," Stefan stutters, having trouble forming complete thoughts himself. "I know how you feel about my brother," Stefan admits, with a fair amount of guilt. He still thinks my feelings for Damon are all his fault, like the feelings were a direct result of Stefan's mistakes.

"That's not the point," I counter, trying to steer the conversation away from my 'feelings' for his older brother. "I'm choosing to give this another try, because we never broke up. We never had one moment of real closure. We met and we fell in love, and we were pulled apart by circumstance. I think we owe it to ourselves to decide if after everything that we've been through if we still make sense together anymore." He pauses, considering each word carefully.

"Not exactly the stirring declaration of love I was hoping for in this moment," Stefan admits, clearly disappointed in my reasoning.

My own guilt starts creeping in, but I push it back, because there are too many emotions competing for my attention, and there isn't enough room for guilt to be thrown into the mix. "There's nothing more that I can offer you at the moment. I can't promise forever. Hell, I may die tonight, so I can't even promise through this week, but if you'll have me, I can give you right now."

Stefan takes a second to weigh his options, before taking an uncertain step forward and placing a chaste kiss on my lips. It is sweet and gentle, not exactly fireworks on the fourth of July, but there's still emotion there, feeling there, so maybe there's still hope.

"I do have one condition though," Stefan stipulates hesitantly. "Tonight I promised you that I would fight for your right to choose your own fate, and I meant it, but I need you to promise _me_ that you'll make this choice for yourself."

After Stefan states his condition, he starts pacing across the room, nearly burning holes through the carpet. These forceful heart to hearts aren't exactly his strong suit, and clearly he is feeling out of his element. Abruptly he stops, and looks me square in the eyes, and admits, "You know how much I hate what I am, and I would never wish this life on someone who had another choice, but you don't," Stefan states bluntly. "It's vampirism or death. And if you truly don't want this, if you would rather die than become a vampire, than I can respect that. But don't throw your life away just because you think it is the honorable thing to do, because there's nothing honorable in dying for some backwards sense of principle."

I release a tiny, laugh at the irony of it all. "It's funny because Damon said something similar," I recall, slightly amused. They can't agree on anything for almost a century and a half, and suddenly they're taking pages out of the same self-help book for transitioning vampires.

"I'm not surprised," Stefan confesses. "The only thing Damon and I have agreed on in 146 years is you."

I blush slightly at Stefan's admission, because I know how true it is. As different as their methods might be, their goal is always the same. They both want what's best for me, and all I want is what's best for them, so our goals frequently are in conflict, so I propose a counter offer.

"I'll agree to choose whether to live or die for myself on one condition. You have to promise that whatever happens, whether I wake up tomorrow or not, that you'll fight for your relationship with Damon, because you need him, and he needs you."

Stefan nods his head with a genuine smile. "That's an easy promise to make. After what's happened this year, I can't actually imagine life without him. When I was with Klaus, and I felt like all was lost, Damon was the one thing that mattered, more than the pain, and the guilt, and the compulsion. Keeping my big brother alive mattered more than anything else," Stefan confesses easily. I don't know what compels me to speak in this moment, but the words flow out of my mouth, before I think to take them back.

"Even me," I add bitterly.

Stefan's guilt makes a radical and sudden comeback. Two words seem have left him speechless and broken. I can see the first signs of tears welling in his eyes. "Elena, I am so sorry for . . ."

"Stop," I order loudly. "Just don't. Not right now. That's another problem for another day, so let's just leave it for now."

The term saved by the bell comes to mind as I hear my ringtone echoing in the room. Once I answer it, I hear Caroline, nearly hysterical, and it isn't until she calms down that I can hear what she's saying, but once I do, my heart doesn't just drop, it seems to disappear entirely, and all that replaces it is pain and emptiness.

"Damon's been taken," Caroline frantically states. "It was that creepy pastor of the local church, April Young's father. He staged some coup of the council, and he's in charge now. He found me and told me he had Damon locked up at the old Lockwood dungeon, and that if Stefan didn't come before sun up tomorrow that he was going to kill him."

To my credit, I don't lose it. I don't cry or waste precious time contemplating my life without Damon. I clinically assessed the situation and found the only outcome that doesn't end with Damon meeting the pointy end of a stick. "I have a plan," I tell Caroline before disconnecting the phone.

"I'm going after him," Stefan declares, ready to gear up for his suicide mission.

"No, you're not," I order defiantly, whilst grabbing his arm and not letting go. "It's a trap. He wants to kill you both. Once he has you, he'll kill you and Damon on the spot."

"He's my brother, Elena. I'm not going to just let him die." His desire to protect Damon is touching, but his rash impulses will get them both killed.

"There's another way," I promise Stefan. "You can't get in without being taken out, but I can."

"No, absolutely not," Stefan states. "It's too dangerous." I might be a vampire tomorrow, and he's still treating me like the damsel in distress that he has to save.

"And you walking into a trap sounds like the safe plan," I counter sarcastically.

"You have to let her go," Stefan and I hear from the doorway. Bonnie, who has obviously been standing there for quite some time, was able to hear enough of our conversation to take a definitive side, but I'd be lying if I said her position didn't surprise me. She hates Damon, so I don't understand why she would be on board with me risking my life to save him.

"I can't," Stefan offers as a feeble response.

Bonnie rolls her eyes and drags him out of the room. "Come with me," she states before exiting and taking Stefan along with her. They don't go far, only to Stefan's room, likely wanting some privacy to talk. Unfortunately for them, being a big sister has prepared me for the delicate art of eavesdropping. Their voices are in whispered voices, but I can still make out what they're saying.

"I know you want to protect her," Bonnie concedes graciously. "But there are more important concerns right now than just saving her life."

"Like what?" Stefan questions. "Because I know this isn't about protecting Damon. So tell me, what's more important to you than saving Elena's life?"

"Saving her soul," Bonnie answers gently. Stefan is taken aback by her reply, but Bonnie keeps pushing on, since we are short on time. "You know as well as I do that there are _things_ that Elena doesn't like to talk about. She's never said anything to me, but we've been friends since the cradle, so she doesn't need to. I can see it plainly on her face, and so can you. The only person in this town who doesn't know is Damon. So try to imagine for a moment what it will be like if he dies thinking that there's not a person in this world who really loved him. That guilt will eat away at her very soul, and I don't see her coming back from that. There's danger in what she's doing, but if he dies, the best parts of her die along with him, so ask yourself what you're really fighting for." After a very long eight seconds, Stefan breaks the silence.

"Okay," he relents.

"That's good, because I just would've snuck off if you had said no," I remark as I reappear from behind the door. Neither one seems thrown at my apparent eavesdropping, so we move on quickly.

"You told Caroline you had a plan, what is it?" Stefan asks, still concerned for my safety.

"I'll go in and play the helpless human card until I can catch Pastor Young unaware."

"And then?" Stefan asks, worried about the next step of my plan.

"I do what I have to make sure we both make it out alive," I answer as detached as possible. I don't give details, because I don't think Stefan really wants to know. He has this idea of me in his head that never quite matches up with my true nature, so I remain cryptic, so Stefan can cling to idea that I'm still that innocent young girl that he saved from the water. Deep down he knows. He has to. Pastor Young is a threat to nearly everyone that I love. He can't be allowed to survive.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi everybody, well I was totally not planning on updating today, but the kids I work with both got sick today, so I got a surprise day off. I thought I'd give chapter 5 a try. **

**I really want to thank again all my wonderful readers who have favorited, alerted, and reviewed this story. You guys rock, seriously. **

**I really, really want feedback for this chapter, because it is like my favorite one so far, and I am dying to know what you guys think. I hope you all enjoy.**

Drive to Lockwood dungeon, save Damon, and try not to die. I restate my objective on constant repeat in my head, because if Damon's going to survive this, I need complete focus and concentration. Needless to say dwelling on the conversation between my boyfriend and my best friend is not the way to keep a level head. So I can't think about the 'things' Bonnie says I never talk about, and I can't think about the flaws in my plan, and I definitely can't think about how Pastor Young could have staked Damon already, because if I do, I'll never make it, and neither will he, so I soldier on, with my objective never far from my mind.

As I approach the Lockwood grounds, I survey the area for any possible backup that the Pastor might have. After seeing no one, I surmise that he must have come alone. Kidnapping one of this town's own citizens, a member of the council no less, is dangerous business, even if he is a vampire. Already I know more about my enemy than I did this morning. He's careful and likes to work alone, but also overconfident and arrogant, and this can be used to my advantage. Pastor Young is expecting a centuries old vampire, not a 'helpless' young girl, so I put my game face on, and use whatever latent acting abilities that I might have and rush inside.

I attempt to sound hysterical, looking all around the room as if I'm in shock. "Please, you can't hurt him," I beg, not really having to act too hard to mimic panic and fear. As Pastor Young runs up to me, he lowers the gun, likely loaded with wooden bullets, that was previously pointed at Damon. The gun seems unnecessary, since both of Damon's legs are staked down, and his hands are tied behind his back with what I'm sure is vervain soaked ropes. The Pastor's guard is slightly lowered as he approaches me, but I can tell from his watchful eye that he is waiting for a trap, for Stefan to come in and save the day. In order to gain the upper hand, I need to keep him talking and distracted, so I continue on with my inane blubbering, hoping Pastor Young is a closet sexist who would actually be dumb enough to buy my damsel in distress routine.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask behind a flood of forced tears. "Damon never did anything to you."

The Pastor looks at me with disgust present behind his eyes. He judges me, probably hates me, and he thinks I'm just some stupid girl who fell for the hot, dangerous, guy in the leather jacket, which means my plan is working. He snickers one last time before answering. "Personally he's done nothing to me, but his crimes are numerous. Surely you're not so stupid as to think him innocent. Has your little boyfriend told you about all the people that he's murdered? Did he tell you if they begged for their lives? I bet he still remembers the sounds of their screams," Pastor Young whispers in a creepy menacing tone. He's releases his gun and it hits the floor with a thud. He thinks the threat has passed, likely assuming if Stefan was here, he would have come barging in by now. He has no idea who he's dealing with.

It only takes a second to lower the mask and discard the role of 'innocent' girl. The Pastor sees the flash of change, but it's too late. I have hold of both of his arms now. My newly transitioning body might not have the strength of a vampire just yet, but it is stronger. He tries to free himself from my grasp, but he cannot move an inch. I relish this. His fear is like a surge of power feeding me with strength. Feeling a little dramatic at the moment, I lower my head till its right next to the Pastor's ear, and I mimic his menacing tone from seconds ago. "He might have done terrible things in the name of love or survival or pain, but the vampires in this town are my family, and I protect my family," I vow confidently.

The Pastor is shaking now, and suddenly he is the weakling pleading for mercy. "Please," he begs desperately. "What are you going to do to me?" He questions, utterly terrified.

I stay in the same spot by his ear as I whisper, "one more terrible thing," before tearing into his neck with my blunt human teeth. Once the first drop touches my tongue, my fangs descend, and a frenzy begins. It only takes seconds for me to drain the last drop, because I'm desperate, because he's evil, and because it seems like a warped sense of justice that his life should fuel mine. He nearly took someone very dear to me, and now he lies dead at my feet. In that moment, I'm a predator, a protector, a monster, a warrior, and now a vampire. It only takes one word from Damon to reawaken the humanity, to remember who I am and what I stand for. I hear my name just once, and I'm me again. I rush to Damon's side and I rip the stakes from his legs and attempt to untangle the ropes, until the harsh stinging reminds me that vervain is toxic to my new body. I search for a tool to cut the ropes, and luckily for me, the recently deceased Pastor kept a mini arsenal in the dungeon. I dig through his supplies until I find a knife to cut the ropes.

Once Damon is free, he searches my face, probably afraid that my brief moment of murderous rage has untethered me from my humanity. After I notice his intentions, I smile lovingly at him and place the gentlest kiss on his cheek, just to reassure him that I'm still here. I'm still me. I then jump back into proactive mode as I quickly load the dead body into the trunk and come back for Damon. His injuries might not be life threatening, but he will need a heavy dose of blood to speed the healing process. I load Damon into the car, and start tending to his wounds as I hand him the blood bag that I swiped from the boardinghouse. The call of the blood is almost unbearable, but I remind myself that Damon needs it more than I do, so I focus on wiping the blood from Damon's closing wounds.

My body operates in a state of shock for a while. My humanity is still firmly switched on, since I am still fussing and worrying about Damon's healing, but I am mostly still numb. It is how I felt after I woke up after the accident to discover my parents were dead. This lasts for all of fifteen minutes, just enough time to heal Damon and drive him home. He studies me the entire way there, searching for something, some crack in my eerily calm exterior. Damon doesn't say a word until we are in front of the boardinghouse and I am unloading him from the car, even though he insists he is good as new. I still feel the need to dote on him, just to be sure, he's really alright.

He stops, frozen in his spot next to the car door. His look isn't one of judgment or disappointment, only fear, sadness, and regret. Damon cups my face in his hands as he has a hundred times before, and when I meet his gaze, the dam breaks. The force of what I've done hits me, and all the emotions come rushing in, my fear from almost losing Damon, my guilt over murdering a man I knew, and worse enjoying it, and my sense of loss for my human life, which was now and irrevocably over. In another moment of déjà vu, Damon picks me up into his arms and carries me through the door. Physically I'm strong enough now to never have to be carried again, but emotionally; I don't think I could have made it a single step.

He moves quickly through the foyer, past a concerned and frantic Stefan, and up the stairs and he stops in my old room, where he lays me tenderly on the bed. As my cries turn to a few stray tears, Damon moves methodically, pulling back the bed sheet covers and tucking me in. This is the first time that I've been tucked in since my parent's died, and the action brings me a bit of familiar comfort. His back turns, and I'm afraid he's about to leave, but he returns with an item he retrieved from the dresser. It's a teddy bear, almost identical to the one resting in my room at home. Damon bought it for me on one of those bad days when the world was falling apart. He tried not to make a big deal out of it, and simply said I needed a spare for when I slept over here. From that day on, the bear was a symbol; a reminder that even on the worst days, things could get better. Today was a bad day, but I still have Damon and I have this little bear, so maybe things aren't so horribly dire.

After he's satisfied that I'm ready for bed, he sits on the edge and wearily tells me, "You should get some sleep. It seems crazy, but it actually helps. Brand new day tomorrow and all that optimistic crap." This time when he rises up, I know he's about to leave, and with my vampire reflexes, I grab his arm.

"Don't go," I request softly. The predator is far from me now, and the lost little girl is making a reappearance. I realize now that I can be both. I can fight for the people that I love, and still hold onto myself. Whichever part of me is in charge now, probably the selfish part, it doesn't want Damon to leave.

Damon tries to hide his frustration at my request, but I see the conflict in his eyes. "You have a nervous boyfriend downstairs," he reminds me gently. It's not a guilt trip and it's not judgment. It's just a reminder to help me remember that I don't belong to him and he doesn't belong to me. If my emotions weren't driving me slowly insane, I'd probably heed his advice, but right now I really don't care.

"I know he is," I acknowledge, with a respectable amount of guilt coating my throat.

"You're supposed to be letting me go," Damon continues.

"I know that too, and I'm sorry," I confess. "It's selfish and it's wrong, and it doesn't change the choice I made, but I did something for you tonight. I fought for you, and I don't regret it, but I'm asking you for one more night to be wildly selfish. Because after almost losing you today, I don't know how to let you walk through that door. Please don't leave me," I plead one last time.

The second I say that, the battle is over. Damon nods his head and pulls up a chair. Once I see it, I shake my head no. I silently pat the space at my side, and Damon looks at me terrified. Agreeing to stay in the same room was one thing, but the same bed is a lot to ask, probably too much, but he crawls in all the same. He is uncharacteristically careful not to touch me or even so much as breathe on me. It is a big bed, and Damon seems intent to put as much space between us as possible. Being the difficult and defiant person that I am, I resist his attempts to distance himself, physically or emotionally, because as awful as it is, I need him. So I scoot closer towards him, and turn my body so that I am facing him. I reach for his hand and intertwine it with mine. For what seems like hours, my eyes remain locked with his, and he doesn't flinch, he barely breathes, until sleep overtakes me, and I find a little peace.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	6. Chapter 6

**Two updates in two days. I am super proud of myself. Luckily for all of you, my kiddos were home sick again today, so I was able to knock out another chapter. As always, tons of hugs for my faithful readers and reviewers. You guys are my motivation for speedy updates. I hope you all enjoy. **

Emptiness, that's the first thing that registers after waking up alone in that bed. My arm skims the other side, hoping to bump into Damon's sleeping form, but all I feel are cold sheets and a vacant bed. I bolt right up calling his name in a panic. Nightmare scenarios pass through my mind. Images of kidnapping, murder, or abandonment plague my thoughts until his cocky, self-assured voice fills the room.

"No need to spiral into another emotional meltdown. Your prayers have been answered. I have returned and with breakfast no less," he jokes as he hands me one of his crystal glasses filled with tantalizing human blood. I swallow it all in one animalistic guzzle, and I take my finger and wipe up the remnants of my new food source from the glass. It might not be entirely lady like, but Damon cracks a tiny smile at my new mealtime manners.

Unfortunately, the smirk disappears once he notices my attention has shifted back onto him. His demeanor undergoes a noticeable shift. He is no longer playful or smiling, but distant and aloof. Neither one of us is brave enough to discuss the intimacy of last night, so his new way of coping seems to be feigning indifference, as if that's ever worked for him before.

Damon's face isn't cold or angry. He isn't holding a grudge, and to the casual observer, his behavior would seem perfectly ordinary. A stranger wouldn't notice how he averts his eyes every time I peer into them, or how Damon's feet are shifting in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture, or how his trademark smirk doesn't quite reach his deep blue eyes, which seem paler than I remember. A stranger wouldn't notice, but I do, so when he moves to leave, I test my new powers and super speed in front of him.

"Seems someone's been practicing," Damon remarks impressed, but still avoiding my gaze.

"What is wrong with you?" I accuse in a moment of illogical anger.

Damon steels himself against my attempts to break through and prepares himself for a fight. He wields his prized weapons, sarcasm and humor.

"I'm just peachy. Last time I checked, you're the one that's causing everyone to raise the alert level to DEFCON five. Your little Scooby gang is planning and plotting in the war room downstairs. I'm pretty sure Blondie already has a schedule made for who's on Elena patrol through the rest of the week. She tells me its color coded and everything. I think she made copies in triplicate if you'd like to take a look at who will be your personal undead coach this morning." Damon delivers the sarcastic quip with his usual dramatic flair, as I look on in aggravation. I make a quick grab for his arm, so I know I have his attention.

"Don't do that," I command determinedly. "Don't pull away from me, not now."

He wrenches his arm from my grasp, and stares at me firmly in the eyes. "It's better for both of us if I do."

Bullshit. I'm calling bullshit on Damon's latest delusion that this is what's best for me. It's just another excuse, and I won't let him do this, I can't.

"It isn't better for me," I contend forcefully. "I'm gonna need you to teach me how to do this. You're the only one who can do it right," I argue persuasively. I tap into a point of weakness. He thinks the rest of the world is incompetent when it comes to protecting me. I figure that covers my afterlife as well, but after last night, I'm not sure he even trusts himself anymore.

"You're wrong," he disagrees wearily. "I would only screw you up worse than you are now. It's best if I go. I promised Stefan that I would leave town if you chose him and I intend to honor that deal."

The panic from this morning and last night comes back full force. I died last night, I turned last night, all to keep Damon alive, and now he wants to leave me. This time I grasp both arms tightly. He could probably wiggle free if he put enough thought into it, but it would take some effort. My grip would crush a human arm, and Damon can finally see how serious I am about keeping him here.

"You don't get to make deals about my life," I bark out furiously. "It's _mine_, and I decide who I want removed from it. Plus, I think my recent transformation means your deal's sort of shot to Hell now don't you?" Damon never wavers during my verbal assault, and he still maintains his cool composure, as if I don't see the conflict just below the surface.

"Nonsense," Damon replies lightly, "it's the perfect time to get the Hell out of dodge. Stefan and Caroline can teach you how to walk the straight and narrow. Stefan is back to gelling his hero hairdo, and Caroline is too much of a control freak to resist a good project. Bonnie will make you a ring. Between the three of them they will have you living happily off blood bags in no time. Any of them mentions the word bunnies you call me, but other than that you'll be fine, a Hell of a lot better once I'm gone."

I must be getting the hang of this vampire thing, because I've moved past the basic survival instincts like hunger, anger, and desire. I'm now onto the more nuanced emotions like defensiveness and guilt.

"How can you say that?" I ask dumbfounded. If I were to list one person in my life over the past six months who was always there, it would be Damon. There's no question. In no universe am I better off with him gone. How can he not see that? Oh, right he makes the mistake of listening to me when I talk I remind myself bitterly.

On a more positive note, my incessant questioning appears to be wearing Damon down, because I see the first crack in his exterior. It's small and he tries to hide it, but I am breaking through, whether he likes it or not. "Can't we just skip past this part of the conversation?" Damon requests seemingly annoyed and bored by our discussion. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's trying to hide from me, and I won't allow it.

"No," I answer defiantly, "not until you tell me what you mean by that." That tiny crack that I saw grows in an instant until the wall comes crumbling down, and I finally get an honest answer.

"I'm responsible for your first murder," Damon admits, clearly plagued by a guilty conscience. "You really want me to stick around so I can be the cause of the second or the third?"

That's why he's pulling away. Damon doesn't like many things about himself, but it was always a point a pride with him that he could protect me better than anyone else. Now he feels like he failed me, like my descent into darkness is his fault. I can see it behind his eyes. The guilt, the pain, he thinks he'll ruin me, but he's got it ass backwards. I think he might be the one person who can save me.

"No," I shout back boldly, "you don't get to do that. I killed Pastor Young. It wasn't your fault." Damon laughs darkly at my response.

"Cut the crap," Damon orders, frustrated at the direction of the conversation. "You spent your entire human life fighting for every innocent and not so innocent soul on this Earth. You sacrificed your precious principles and morals to save me. This isn't the path that you want to go down, _believe_ _me_, I know."

"You're wrong," I fire back instantly. Damon stares at me skeptically until I relent and correct myself. "Okay you're not entirely wrong," I confess. "But I chose this, being a vampire, being a predator. I knew the cost. I wish that that man hadn't died today, but he was a threat, not just to you but to everyone, and I won't apologize for choosing the people that I love over him, because you sure as Hell never do."

There is a moment of awkward silence, because neither of us wants to dwell on the fact that I once again lumped Damon in the category with people that I 'love.' Luckily, the moment passes and Damon reengages in our tenuous back and forth.

"So what, you killed the psychotic man of God to protect your little friends?" He tries to play his question off nonchalantly, but I can tell he wants it to be true. Damon wants this to be about_ them_, so he doesn't have to carry the guilt or blame for what I've done.

"No," I regretfully correct him again, "I tried to _stop_ him for them. I _killed_ him for you. If I had more time, I would have found another way, but you were minutes maybe hours away from dying, so I killed that man to save you. I don't deny that, but you would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed and if Stefan had been there, he would've killed him too. You told me once that you would always choose me," I remind him gently. "Well last night I chose you. I chose your life over Pastor Young's, and I would do it again," I vow sincerely.

"You shouldn't have to," Damon answers softly in defeat.

"Maybe," I agree cautiously, "but I would rather be nursing a guilty conscience this morning than crying tears over your dead body." Damon shoots me another skeptical stare, and I get my second wind of fiery determination for the day, because I can't let him keep thinking that that my life is worse for knowing him, for lo . . . caring about him.

"You think that you're bad for me," I state the truth plainly. "You think that you'll drag me down into the darkness with you. But you don't. You never have. This summer you brought me back into the light when I wanted to hide in the shadows of my covers forever. You never let me give up and you always push me to do better. I need that, and as selfish as it is, I need you. Last night when I thought you could die, I realized that I don't want to live in a world without you in it, so you can't leave. I won't let you. I'll keep you here by force if I have to," I swear earnestly.

Damon starts laughing at my determination and asks, "You and what army, baby vamp?"

I giggle a little at the return of his sense of humor. "Three vampires and a helpful witch should be plenty of muscle to keep a stubborn vampire from running away," I chide him playfully.

Damon's eyes have regained their former vibrance, so with a renewed sense of warmth he asks, "I don't really have a choice do I?"

I shake my head with a wide smile and reply, "Not really." He nods his head in reluctant acceptance.

"I'll stay on one condition," Damon stipulates. "Stefan and Caroline will handle training you. I'm no teacher and trust me you don't want to end up like me." I'm once again shocked at Damon's complete lack of self-worth, and he mistakes my silence for acceptance of his deal and finally makes his exit.

After he is halfway down the hall, I whisper what I should have told him before he left. "I could do a lot worse." I contemplate running after him, but before I can move an inch, the room goes black. For a second I think I've gone blind, but suddenly the blackness is replaced with something else. At first, the things that I see are nonsensical. I don't know if I'm dreaming or hallucinating, but I'm seeing conversations that I don't remember having, moments with Damon that I don't remember sharing. I can't make sense of any of it, until I'm reminded of Vampire 101. Once a vampire transitions, all previous compulsion wears off. These aren't hallucinations that I'm having. They're memories, of love, of sacrifice, and of an unfailing gentleness that I've only seen glimpses of before now.

While both memories tragically remind me of the goodness that Damon has always been capable of, even in the very beginning, it is the second memory that hits me the hardest. My heart breaks as I watch Damon telling me he doesn't deserve me. At the time, it was probably the truth. We'd barely come back from what he did to Jeremy, and with the exception of my manipulation at Duke, I'd never shown him anything but kindness and compassion. But it's hard not to appreciate the irony that once I have this memory back, I'm not sure that _I _deserve _him_. I'm faced with the same question that Damon asked me in the woods last night. What now?

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	7. Chapter 7

**Finally, I was able to update again. I have been dying to write, but I moved out of my old place on Saturday and into my new place. I worked all day yesterday just so I would have time to write this chapter. A big warm thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. You guys are the reason that I feel the overwhelming need to update quickly. I hope you all enjoy. **

I'm a fatalist, a pessimist, a realist, whatever the Hell you want to call it. I never quite developed the 'everything will work out' attitude like my younger brother, so I knew the impassioned pleas and night times spent in her bedroom wouldn't last. Sooner or later she'd forget that she 'needed' me. She'd remember her unbreakable bond with Stefan, and she'd walk away, just like she has a dozen times before.

But despite all my pessimistic beliefs, even I thought these fuzzy happy feelings would last longer than a day, Hell at least longer than an hour. I left Elena alone, so Stefan can rush in for the awkward morning after conversation. I leave them what tiny shrivel of privacy you can have in a house full of vampires. I resist the urge to listen in, because I'm afraid the endless stream of I love you's might make me hurl, and Stefan has destroyed enough of our fine Persian rugs. After about ten minutes, they both exit the room and walk downstairs. Stefan is forcing a smile, and Elena appears to be emitting a neon sign that reads _I need space_. Apparently my younger brother isn't as clueless as you would think by looking at his hair. He makes an uncomfortable exit, leaving Elena and I alone once more.

In the course of ten minutes, everything's shifted. She's not joking with me or smiling at me. Elena's not even glancing in my direction. All she is doing is nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other, like she's some freshman girl on her first date with the quarterback. Her shifts from badass to vulnerable girl are giving me a major mind fuck, and I am torn between comforting her with an uncharacteristic niceness, pushing her to just accept this and move on, and ignoring this latest string of strange behavior until it passes. Ultimately, being the obliging vampire that I am, I attempt to put her at ease with a small joke to loosen her up a little.

"I'm sure you assume that because you're immortal you have the added perk of maintaining this young, sexy look for all eternity. But if you keep up this downer attitude, I think you'll be the first vampire to develop frown lines."

I expect an eye roll or gentle shove, or even a witty comeback. What I don't expect is the stammering. The "uh . . . I . . . yeah," is the extent of her response. It would almost be cute if it wasn't so confusing, actually it still kind of is. She's nervous, which isn't new for us, but I've never produced this reaction before. Elena Gilbert doesn't stammer, not around me, not around anyone. I didn't even know that she could. After about a minute without any intelligible response, I grow worried. My smirk drops and all former humor is a now a memory.

"Elena, is something wrong?" I question genuinely concerned. If she was still human, I'd think she was having a stroke by her inability to form a complete sentence. Is there a vampire equivalent for a stroke? I glance around for judgy to make sure she isn't giving Elena one of her patented witchy migraines. Luckily Elena's regained some higher brain function, and she manages to shake her head no. She no longer looks nervous, and the stammering has stopped. I can't tell whether that is a good sign or a bad one, because now she isn't speaking at all. We're in a standoff or a staring contest, I haven't decided which yet. Elena just keeps looking at me, desperately trying to communicate with me through her eyes. Those eyes hold a pleading, a longing, but even _my_ vampire abilities have their limits, and unfortunately clairvoyance is not one of the perks of being a card carrying member of the undead.

I take one cautious step towards her, trying not to spook her. "I don't know if this is some type of new vampire adjustment or just teenage girl weirdness that I can't understand without possessing ovaries, but I need you to know. If you're in trouble or you need my help, I'm here. I'll always be here," I promise earnestly.

She gazes up at me and smiles so warmly, almost lovingly, that I think I've brought her back, right up until the moment she speeds out the room, leaving me in the dust. I expected her to walk away from me, not fucking vamp speed away. Elena is nothing if not creative in her rejection.

I keep waiting for her to show in my room or call me with some new impending crisis, but she never comes around, and my phone never rings. After a few days without a real conversation, I chalk her behavior up to a guilty conscience over picking Stefan, and with that life returns to normal, at least our _new_ normal. Our day to day lives take a rather drastic turn now that this town is short one less human. Elena avoids me like a leper. Every day starts the same with a mini standoff where Elena tries to tell me _something_, but after a few moments eventually gives up. I try not pushing. She's not mine anymore, never really was. I think this might be her pitiful attempt at letting me go, so I don't force the issue.

But the one part of the day that I insist on, is the thrice daily feeding. Three square meals a day is my requirement in order to help the young vampire to avoid my brother's ripper path. I walk in with her glass of blood at all three mealtimes of the day, so she can hold onto some sense of normalcy. She chugs the glass at first, but by the end of the week, she is taking controlled sips. Then she hands back the cup and mouths, "thank you." Two words are all that I've been able to get from her in a week, and she doesn't even say them out loud. I am once again relegated to role of the outsider, looking in, never too close, but never far away. Unlike Stefan, I thrive in this role. It's the one thing left that still makes sense to me, and it is not without its perks.

The one part of being on the outside that no one tells you is that it helps develop a keen observational sense. Over the first two weeks of Elena Gilbert's life as a vampire, I start to notice little things. Stefan and Elena may be back together, but they are still miles away from where they used to be. She sleeps in his bed now, finally abandoning her old room down the hall, but they haven't quite had the amorous activities that I would expect from a new vampire. When I turned, I wanted to hump everything that moved, like a dog in heat, but it is hard to even catch them making out anymore. There is still the hand holding and quick pecks, but it never develops into more.

Don't even get me started on their weird ass walks that happen every damn day. Apparently an integral part of the Stefan Salvatore teaching model is being one with nature. Something about keeping her grounded that I really didn't understand. I think he just misses the forest since he stopped snacking on bunnies. What's strange is that Stefan always returns looking even more miserable than his usual depressing self. Who would have thought that was possible? But what really gives me pause are the arguments. Elena and Stefan don't fight. Apparently when you're _in epic love_, it means you never disagree, or if you do, you immediately give up and change your mind.

But ever since they got back together, fights have started over nothing. Elena's spunkiness and badassery that I admired so much after she turned have made things _difficult_ with Stefan. In the biggest surprise of all, Mr. Free Will has finally grown a hint of a backbone, if only he wasn't wrong a lot. Elena keeps pushing her new boundaries, her control. I feel like a proud parent, vampire parent anyway, at her determination to test her new limits. But my ever cautious brother advises the safer route to take more time before she surrounds herself with people. Luckily, Elena has other plans, and she never backs down anymore. Going out with Caroline and staying the night with Jeremy in the house are enough to produce a full scale battle.

The arguments always follow the same pattern. Elena says she doesn't need to be coddled. Stefan claims he's just trying to help, and eventually Elena leaves in a huff, and does whatever she wants to, in defiance of Stefan's advice. It makes me more self- satisfied than it should that Elena is finally giving this treatment to someone other than me, but I can't help pitying my younger brother. I know what it's like to worry about her, so after every fight, I pop in on Stefan and make up some excuse about going out.

Neither one of us says it outright, but I like to think that Stefan knows I'm leaving to keep an eye on our girl. I'm all in favor of testing limits, but I really don't need a frantic call from Elena saying she needs my help in burying a body. I keep my distance, and don't let her know that I'm checking up on her. The more I watch, the more I realize she doesn't need it. If there was ever anyone to gain control of her their urges for their loved ones, it would be Elena Gilbert. By the looks of things, she could be a damn vampire prodigy. It's then that I realize that she doesn't really need me anymore. Maybe now that she isn't in crisis anymore, Elena might actually let me leave this God forsaken town, because someone who can't even talk to me, certainly won't miss me.

I start packing that very same night while Elena and Stefan are sleeping. One quick note, and I'll be long gone, that is until I hear the scream. It's piercing and terror filled, and I don't need any more evidence to tell who it belongs to. I race upstairs as fast as my vampire speed will allow me, but I don't see any intruders. I don't detect any danger. All I see is Elena thrashing about, kicking and screaming like she is fighting for her life. The only words that I can make out between screams are, "stop the car." It's a nightmare, more specifically a memory. Stefan is wide awake and trying to shake her into consciousness, but when she wakes, Elena nearly falls off the bed trying to get away from him. I approach carefully, afraid that she's too scared to be touched, but once she sees me, she relaxes. More than that, she embraces me, like I'm still her sole protector against the things that go bump in the night.

I try my hand at comforting. Turns out I don't actually suck at it, because her breath starts to normalize. "It was only a nightmare," I promise soothingly.

Elena gazes at me with a pained expression. "No, it was real. You know it was real," she corrects me. "I think I need to sleep in my old room tonight," Elena informs me, visibly still shaken. She shoots Stefan an apologetic look before I scoop her up and take her down the hall. She buries her head closer to my body as I make the short walk to her old room. In a weird sense of déjà vu, I tuck her in, just like the night that she turned. Since history has been repeating itself tonight, I shouldn't have been surprised when her hand clutches mine in a tight grip. There's no talking her out of this tonight. She wants me to stay again, hold her close and chase the demons away. As I climb in next to her, I realize she'll never let me leave, and I'll never be strong enough to go. In summary, I am so royally fucked.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay so does anyone remember how I said I was a terrible liar, well I did it again. I fully intended to have this chapter be the one where Caroline and Elena have a girl's night out. This chapter sort of got away from me and after I passed the 2000 word mark, I decided to wait for the next chapter to have the girl's night out. The good news is that there is a lot of Delena in this chapter, and Caroline will be in the next one. I super promise this time. **

**Also a super special thank you to all of my reviewers for last chapter. I actually had more reviews for that chapter than I've had since chapter 2, so I was really happy about it. I love hearing feedback, positive or negative. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. **

Turns out, Damon was right about Mystic Falls being a town where history repeats itself, because once again I wake up alone. Though I seriously doubt that this time Damon just popped downstairs to snag me a cup of O negative for breakfast. No, this time, he's just avoiding me. Hard to blame him when my impassioned speech about needing him in my life was followed up with two weeks of silence, talk about mixed signals. In reality it was just bad timing.

I regained crucial memories that Damon compelled away, and even after two weeks, I still don't know what they mean, or what they change, if anything. I chose to get back with Stefan because I needed to know if what we had could be saved. I still wonder that every day. My doubts are only intensified during Stefan and I's vampire training. At first, Stefan taught me the basics like how to run vamp speed without running into trees, and how to discern voices in the distance. That was the fun stuff, but I can tell that he is holding back. He never brings up how to compel people, and I never ask. Stefan probably thinks that is somehow beneath me my dignity to use compulsion. So after a few days, when I'm out with Caroline, I ask her to teach me, and we have a fun night dancing and drinking without getting our IDs checked once.

When I get home, clearly buzzed, Stefan doesn't say anything, but he looks at me with what Damon would call judgy little eyes. He thinks I'm putting people in danger by surrounding myself with them. The allure, the draw of the blood is always with me, but I don't have the same issues with it that Stefan does, and I'm tired of being condemned for his hang-ups.

The time spent in the forest is the worst, because we have endless amounts of time, and our conversations which used to flow so easily are now strained and uncomfortable. The secrets that seem to be holding our relationship together are also slowly tearing it apart. We don't talk about Damon or Stefan's actions while he was a ripper. Without talking about anything real, all that's left is talking about the weather. Sometimes I pray for a thunderstorm just so I have something to say other than, "It sure is sunny outside today."

But even amidst the fights and the tense exchanges, there are still moments where he'll smile sweetly at me, and I'll at least remember what it was like to be deeply in love with him, to feel like he was my perfect fit. There's still a part of me that desperately wants to put the pieces back together again, but I can't help feeling like I'm one of the king's men and Stefan and I's relationship is humpty dumpty. But I made my bed, and until I'm sure that our relationship is unfixable, I have to lie in it.

Unfortunately, I don't know how to honor my commitment to Stefan while still being fair to Damon. In my own defense, I _tried_ to talk to him. No one will ever understand how hard I tried. I woke up every day with the same goal: tell Damon about the memories. Talk about what they mean and how they made me feel, but every morning it ends the same. I grow tongue tied. I gaze desperately into his eyes, trying to convey my feelings and thoughts through the expressions on my face. When that inevitably fails, I give up and resign myself to the silent thank you that is for so much more than just the cup of blood.

If I wasn't such a coward, I'd say it out loud. At least it would count as actual speech, but every time I so much as mention Damon's name, Stefan tenses. It's subtle and it only lasts a second, but the memory of what I shared with Damon is clearly still with him. I certainly didn't help matters that I spent my first night as a vampire wrapped up in his brother's arms. But instead of fight with me or break up with me, Stefan merely added this to the growing list of what we don't talk about.

Communication seems to be a problem with both Salvatores at the moment, but I can't let the silence persist with Damon, because one day he'll reach his breaking point. I'll ask too much and give too little, and he really will walk away. So today _will_ be the day. It has to, because I _need _to tell him now before I lose him forever.

I have the speech all planned out in my head, right up until I walk through his bedroom door and spot the suitcase laid out on the bed. Damon's back is to me as he stares mindlessly out the window with a glass of bourbon in his hands. "What is that?" I ask as confusion and hurt echo in my voice.

"What does it look like?" Damon responds without even turning around. "It's a suitcase. You pack things in it," he elaborates sarcastically.

"You're leaving," I state shocked and horrified. I thought Damon _might_ leave one day. I never imagined it would be _today._

"I was," he replies casually as I sigh in relief. "I'm not anymore," he clarifies.

"But you promised," I whisper hopelessly. It's a cheap shot, and I know it, but I don't know how else to convince him he can't ever think of leaving me again. My manipulation earns me a scornful look of disapproval from Damon. He sees right through what I'm trying to do, and he finally is getting angry about it.

"And you told me you needed me," Damon reminds me bitterly, "so I guess we're both liars."

"I do," I swear. "I do need you." Damon grows frustrated at my attempts to persuade him.

"When are you going to get it Elena?" He asks with a weary voice and a heavy heart. "You don't need me. You don't need Stefan. You're strong enough all on your own. That's the point," Damon explains determinedly.

Someday I'd like to see myself through his eyes. He describes a warrior, but when I look in the mirror or look in my heart I still feel helpless. "I don't feel very strong," I confess weakly. Damon scoffs in irritation, but I'm not sure it's directed at me.

"Maybe it's because every single person in your life coddles you," Damon suggests, aggravated. "Hell, even I'm guilty of it at times. If there was anyone who had the right to bitch about a shitty life it'd be you. Your parents died, Jenna's dead, and your semi-alcoholic, quasi-guardian went evil. I think we all collectively decided to take it easy on you, but it's not helping you anymore. All its doing is making you believe that you're weak, but I have seen you be strong. I saw you this summer with Jeremy. I watched you prop him up after Jenna's death when you were still trying to hold it together over burying Jenna and John and losing Stefan. You survived all that. If that isn't the definition of strength, I don't know what is." For a brief second, I can almost see it, the shadow of the badass warrior that he sees when he looks at me, and I want so much to reach for it. He makes me want to reach for it. My heart is in a puddle on the floor. I think it might have to be mopped up later on, before Damon complains about it ruining the carpet.

"You really think that much of me?" I ask, in wonderment that someone could have seen the worst parts of me, that someone could actually watch me take a life, and still see such goodness in me.

"I really do," Damon admits sincerely, right before ruining the moment. "But since we're not coddling you anymore, I should also mention you can be a little bit selfish." It's official sweet moment over, back to our usual back and forth. I'll never admit it, but the normalcy of the exchange outweighs him calling me names.

"Thanks for not sugarcoating it," I reply half-annoyed and half-amused. If only he'd stopped there.

"And a teensy bit bitchy at times if I'm being honest," Damon piles on. This time I give him a good hard shove in the chest, which since I'm a vampire, sent him flying, almost through the window.

As I'm helping him up, I make one small request. "Could we maybe ease into the honesty thing?" He offers me a half smile, but I can't help feeling like another shoe's about to drop.

"There's just one more thing I have to say," Damon states unsurprisingly.

"Does it involve me being a terrible awful person?" I question, hesitantly.

"Not exactly," he claims, "more like a promise."

"What is it?" I ask curiously, intrigued by the mystery of it all. Damon's face grows deadly serious, and I'm suddenly reminded about the saying about curiosity and the untimely demise of the cat. Damon's voice is reproachful and determined, almost commanding in its presence.

"Last night you hit some bump in your relationship with Stefan and you did not hesitate to invite me into your bed, after _two weeks_ of ignoring me," Damon accuses justifiably angry. "You used me to make yourself feel better." He pauses a beat to take an unnecessary deep breath before swearing, "Let me be clear, that will NEVER happen again. Believe it or not I think too much of my brother and too much of myself to allow you to play us both this way."

I'm in a state of shock. How could someone think so much and so little of you at the same time? Unfortunately the facts are irrefutable. It's the reasoning that he's got all wrong. After a beat, I silently acknowledge, "You're right. I never meant to use the feelings between us as a way to hurt you or hurt Stefan. I've been selfish and unfair and I haven't treated you like you deserve, but you're wrong about one thing."

"Only one," he asks in surprise, "I would have thought you'd have a whole list by now."

"Maybe you're right," I acknowledge. "Maybe I don't need you or Stefan. Maybe I don't need anyone, but I do want you. I want you in my life," I reason thoughtfully.

"All evidence points to the contrary," Damon counters, tired of going round by round with me.

"You don't understand," I argue. "There's something I've been trying to tell you, for two weeks I've tried to say it, but I can't. This thing, this secret, it's why I can't even carry on a normal conversation with you anymore." Damon stares at me baffled.

"You already rejected me," he states without bitterness or anger. It is just a simple statement of facts to him. "You already picked Stefan. What is left that could be worse than that?"

"It's not worse," I admit. "It's not bad, but I don't know how to tell you without it changing everything, and I'm not ready for that." Damon looks on with a renewed sense of pity. I don't know whether it's the fear or the sadness or the desperation, but something in my eyes melts away Damon's anger. For a moment, it feels like he's on my side again.

"Then don't," Damon replies with the simplest possible solution. "I don't expect for you to tell me everything. Everybody has secrets, but you can't just stop talking to me and then ask me to climb into bed with you. It's not fair to me, and it's not fair to my brother."

My first thought is to take the olive branch that he's offering me and to run with it. I could keep the secret to myself and still keep Damon as my friend, but instead I push my luck just a little bit further. "I know I don't deserve it," I admit guiltily, "but if I asked you a rather bizarre question, would you answer it honestly?" I ask, hesitantly, unsure whether I even want an answer.

"I suppose," Damon relents quickly. I jump at the opportunity being dangled in front of me to finally get answers I so badly crave.

"You said everybody has secrets," I briefly summarize. "Do you keep secrets from me?"

"All the time," Damon confesses unashamed. He shrugs it off like it's nothing.

"Why?" I ask, befuddled at his nonchalance about the whole thing. Damon stares intently at me as he responds.

"I keep secrets because they're mine," he explains resolutely. "There are parts of my life that don't belong to you. My actions belong to me, as do my reasons. Sometimes I can do without the commentary from the peanut gallery, so I keep things to myself, a right I feel I've earned." His reasoning is sound. It's not like he owes me any explanations, but one thought is still troubling me.

"Don't you ever wonder what those secrets might cost you?" I question softly, consumed with my own inner conflict with secrets. Damon scoffs at this before replying.

"Says the woman who admittedly is keeping a secret of her own," he points out sarcastically. He expects me to laugh at his little joke, but at the moment I don't find it the slightest bit funny.

"You have no idea what keeping it is costing me," I confess enigmatically. Damon's eyebrows knit together in concern, but he knows better than to push me for an answer, so he drops it.

"Well since neither of us seems to be in a confessional mood at the moment, I think we'll leave that question for another day," Damon compromises diplomatically. He starts to walk out of his own room before he turns around. "I'm no good at advice or goal planning, but if you really want to be strong, never let anyone tell you what you can't do and never let anyone hold you back," Damon recommends encouragingly. He leaves me alone in this familiar room that holds too many memories. I run from it in a flash, and once I'm back in my room, I see my phone light up with Caroline's number. Thank God. After tonight's morning emotional dump, I could really use a drink.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	9. Chapter 9

**I don't know how these chapters get away from me. Chapters 8, 9, and eventually 10 were all supposed to be in one chapter. I'm either really long winded, or I have no concept for how long a chapter is going to be when I organize my ideas. In hindsight, I'm glad that they're broken up, because I have good stopping places for each chapter, and it would have been hard to transition without a chapter break. Anyways, lots of thanks to my fantastic reviewers from last chapter. There might only have been six of you, but you were all really sweet and supportive. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. **

Clue #1 when you know your relationship is in trouble, you sneak out of your boyfriend's house, so you don't have to talk to him about cuddling with his brother after a nightmare reliving the day your boyfriend kidnapped you. I suppose technically clue #2 should be that your boyfriend kidnapped you at all. I'm sure any decent therapist would call that a sign. If that wasn't enough, I think clue #3 is when you lie in your note to said boyfriend and tell him you are spending all day with your brother instead of drinking your troubles away with your best friend. If honesty is the key to every successful relationship, Stefan and I are so screwed. But after the fourth shot of tequila, I somehow forget to care.

Caroline is only too happy to join me in our efforts to become Mystic Falls' youngest day drunks. After she found out last week that Klaus had temporarily inhabited Tyler's body, she's been a little moodier than usual, but the tequila definitely helps. Once Klaus was back in his own body, she punched him hard in the nose for deceiving her. The impact of her iron fist caused the bones to momentarily break before Klaus realigned them. Suffice it to say, she hasn't spoken to him since.

Unfortunately, things weren't looking any better with her and Tyler after their long awaited reunion. He was still pouting over the fact that Caroline couldn't tell that it wasn't really him while Klaus had control of his body. Following several days of fighting and thrown objects, all by Caroline, she finally broke up with him. Claimed she didn't need the boy drama in her life, not when she was young, hot, and a badass vampire to boot.

While I'm saddened that my friends' ill-fated union didn't work out, I'm relieved to have Caroline back to her old perky self. The dark cloud that hung over most of her and Tyler's relationship had taken up far too much of her life. Once it was over, she seemed freer_._ A feeling I crave myself, because I am currently anything but. Luckily, the tequila bottle, or should I say bottle(s), act as a temporary dose a freedom, a self-imposed time out from reality. While it can't erase my memories over the past few weeks, it can momentarily erase the anxiety, the guilt, and the cravings.

For instance, when I first walked in with Caroline, I was replaying my conversation with Damon, quieting the guilt over leaving Stefan's bed and inviting Damon into my own, and fighting the urge to sink my teeth into Donnie, the well-meaning, acne ridden bartender that started at the Grille last week. Now the first bottle of tequila is sitting empty in the trash bins, and I'm feeling pretty good, trying to remind myself why dancing on the tables at the local restaurant is probably a poor life choice.

Unfortunately, one inconvenient side effect of the alcohol in my system is that it severs the connection between my brain and my mouth, so I tend to be more honest than is wise. Caroline knows this, which is why she never seems to drink as much as I do. I think it's all part of an evil plot, so she can remember my drunken ramblings, and use it to torture me with later. Her light consumption of the alcohol is also why she is currently staring at me in amusement as I struggle to put my arm around her in my drunken haze. I lean real close and mumble, semi-coherently. "I have a secret Caroline, but shhh, you can't tell anybody," I giggle hysterically at nothing at all.

Caroline's whole face lights up the word secret. The gossipy school girl that is buried just below the surface reemerges, and she pushes the next shot towards me as she sweetly prods. "You can tell me. I'm _great_ at keeping secrets," Caroline promises with a devious smile on her face.

Apparently drunk me is really gullible, because somehow I forget about all the times that Caroline has repeated almost every secret I've ever told her within 24 hours and I spill shamelessly. "It's a long complicated story. Starts with a boy, well really starts with _two_ boys," I correct myself.

Caroline grows anxious and interrupts in frustration. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You met a boy. It was epic. You guys fell in love, until his bad boy older brother swooped in and made your life complicated. Can we skip ahead to the secret part?"

"Damon's not a bad boy," I admonish incredulously. "He's a good boy, great boy, hot boy. What was I saying again?" I ask after getting more than a little off track.

Caroline is close to combusting. "The secret," she screams. "What is the secret?" Caroline keeps pestering me.

"Oh, right, Damon told me he loves me," I confess with a deep sigh, before sinking my head onto the table.

"That's it?" Caroline screeches, annoyed at the lack of juicy bits. "Everyone knows Damon Salvatore loves you. I'm surprised no one's written about it in the gossip section of the Mystic Falls Courier." I lift my head up before addressing my frazzled best friend.

"Does everyone know that he told me he loved me for the first time months ago _and then_ compelled me to forget because he thinks he doesn't deserve me?" I question seriously. That was a comprehensible thought. Damn it, the alcohol must be wearing off. Annoying downside to being a vampire, alcohol burns through your system faster than a human's. It's probably one of the reasons that Damon drinks so much of it. Without constant drinking, it's hard to maintain a decent buzz. The shocked and pitiful look on Caroline's face is a bit of a downer as well.

The tough exterior of Caroline's carefree attitude cracks significantly with this new information. She's in full best friend mode, and I can hear the empathy in her voice. "I don't know what to say Elena." Which for anyone who knows Caroline is sort of a big deal.

"Neither did I," I admit with immense regret, "so I haven't said anything. Damon let me off the hook, but I can't keep it from him any longer. I've let these secrets fester for too long."

"So what's stopping you?" Caroline asks with a gentler curiosity than before. This isn't Caroline on a fact finding mission. This is Caroline genuinely trying to be a good friend. I twiddle with my thumbs as a way to distract myself from this conversation. While I could just change the topic, or fake drunken amnesia, I really _need _to tell someone. Who better than my best friend?

"I don't know how to tell him that this changes things," I confess honestly. "It changes who I thought he was, and it makes me question how well I really know him. He sacrificed a chance for me to understand him more, care for him more, because he didn't want to burden me with his confession. Damon already admitted to keeping secrets from me. What if they're just like this? How many other times has he done something honorable and self-sacrificing without my knowing it?"

Caroline's eyes grow suspiciously shifty after I ask my last question. She starts tracing circles around her own drink and avoiding my gaze. She's hiding something.

"What is it?" I interrogate forcefully, with my determined face in full force. When Caroline finally looks up at me, I swear I detect a trace of guilt in her eyes. When she speaks, she almost sounds ashamed.

"There is something that I never told you about what really happened when Damon freed Tyler and I on the night of the sacrifice," Caroline begins cryptically. "The night Damon was bitten; he initially refused to free Tyler from the shackles. The moon was almost full, and you know those two aren't exactly besties. Damon only freed Tyler because _I_ begged him to, and he was bitten trying to protect _me_. I didn't tell you, because I didn't want you to hate me for being the reason that Stefan was taken away from you," Caroline confesses as she admits with tears running down her face.

Caroline's confession sobers me right up as I put the pieces together. My best friend has blamed herself this entire time for Stefan's leaving, his ripper binge, and all the domino pieces that have fallen since then. No wonder she fought for Stefan and I to get back together. She thought it was her fault he left in the first place. Her friendship with Stefan aside, I suspect her spirited talks about 'epic love' were more the result of a guilty conscience, and not any great insight into my love life. It's wrong for her to blame herself for the actions of other people, and she deserves to know that.

"Tyler was the one who bit Damon," I remind her encouragingly. "Klaus was the one who forced Stefan to choose between becoming a ripper and saving his brother. And Stefan was the one who drove the wedge in our relationship after he was free. None of what happened was your fault." My fervent pleas fall on deaf ears.

"Damon almost died saving me," Caroline counters guiltily as she reaches for her glass.

"I know that," I reply, "and that is just one of the many reasons why . . . I love him."

Caroline spits out the drink in her mouth, and Donnie is the unfortunate recipient of her sudden alcohol shower. She of course apologizes profusely as Donnie walks off to dry the mess from his shirt. Once he's gone, Caroline spins back around with wide, dinner plate size eyes.

"You love Damon; Caroline professes in shock, "like fireworks exploding, heart bursting, want to doodle his name in your notebook love?"

"Yes to the fireworks," I answer casually, like I didn't just drop a bomb the size of Hiroshima on her shoulders, "double yes to the heart bursting, but a no to the doodling. We're not in 8th grade anymore, Caroline."

"What about Stefan?" She questions, trying to keep the judgment out of her voice. He is still her friend. It's her job to protect him too.

"That is the same question that I've been asking myself for weeks now," I admit, lost and confused by my latest predicament.

"Wait just a second," Caroline stops me abruptly. "You've known that you were in love with Damon for _weeks_ and you're only saying something now." Now I know I'm in trouble. This is the Damon make out debacle all over again.

"I can barely believe I'm telling you at all," I explain truthfully. I look around before whispering to her. "This is sort of my darkest secret."

Her face softens and she asks, "Well when did you know for sure?"

"On some level, I've known for a while," I confess, unsure where to begin, "but I was only conscious of it when I regained my memories. Because when Damon told me he loved me in that memory, I wanted to say it back. I wanted to wipe away his tear and never let him go. That's how I knew."

If it's possible, Caroline's eyes grow even wider. "He was crying," she exclaims in shock. "Damon told you he loved you and that he didn't deserve you, and was crying at the time. Are we talking about the same guy? Cocky, leather jacket, smells of bourbon constantly, Damon Salvatore did all that?" She questions, stunned at the side of Damon that only I am usually privy to.

"Yes," I answer, somewhat amused at her reaction. "And apparently he made some deal with Stefan before we reconciled that whoever I didn't choose would leave town," I explain indignantly. "I only found out about it after Damon announced his intentions to pack up and go."

"But obviously he didn't go through with it," Caroline reasons, "so what changed his mind?"

"I begged him not to," I respond miserably. "He stayed because I told him I needed him." My heart stabs me in my chest as I think about how close I was to losing him. At my last confession, Caroline wraps her arms around me tightly for a comforting embrace. As my head rests against her chest, I admit one more secret. If I'm going to be honest, I might as well go for broke. "The truth is," I begin wearily, "if I'd known about that deal. If I really thought that I would lose one of them, I might've chosen differently," I confess, worried about Caroline's reaction. I'm surprised when I only see sympathy across her face.

"Elena, sweetie," Caroline speaks softly, "if you feel that way, why are you still with Stefan?" At this point, I grow evasive again. I already bore my soul enough for one night. No need to go into that fucked up Pandora's Box.

"I've got my reasons," I respond, enigmatically. "Let's just leave it at its complicated." Sensing that sharing time is over, Caroline orders us another bottle and drops the subject. I throw back shot number (Hell I've lost count), and I try once more to drown my sorrows. If I'm going to face either of the Salvatores tonight, I'm gonna need to be much drunker than this.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	10. Chapter 10

**This chapter was Hell to write. I can't even tell you how long it took, and it is shorter than some of my others. My only excuse is I have a friend staying with me, and it can be a little distracting. I also recently started using Twitter, and it is distracting as well. If any of you want to follow me, my username is kpredskin22.**

**I just wanted to profusely thank all of my reviewers from the last chapter. It is the second most amount of reviews that I've gotten for this story. You guys are the best. Please keep it up. I hope you all enjoy.**

After successfully ridding the Grille of all its top brand alcohol, Caroline is kind enough to walk/drag me back to the boardinghouse. Warning bells are going off in my head that returning to face either one of the Salvatores in this state might constitute a bad idea. Then Caroline hands me the 'fun flask' and my mind finds the mute button for those damn bells. I also conveniently forget to worry just _why _my best friend keeps plying me with alcohol right up until we step foot on the Salvatore property.

After Caroline gently reminds me of the complex mechanics of walking, she drops me on the first soft surface she finds. "Special delivery for Damon Salvatore," Caroline bellows, amused at her own joke. Damon wastes no time speeding downstairs. I assume to sign for me.

All coherent thoughts not destroyed by the alcohol are obliterated once I catch sight of Damon standing in the foyer. Apparently we interrupted his post shower ritual, because he still has droplets of water falling down his sculpted six pack. All he threw on before racing downstairs was a pair of tight dark wash jeans that I'm sure cost more than my entire outfit. But once I see how they accentuate his already cute butt, I decided that they are worth every penny he paid the overpriced designer.

"You're pretty," I drunkenly remark before erupting in a fit of giggles. Damon flashes his sexy smirk for all of six seconds before he remembers to feign annoyance.

"I think you're looking for my brother," Damon chides. "Little miss walking brewery falls under his purview." Caroline is in no mood for Damon's flippant attitude tonight, especially when I start petting her arm like a dog. She slips it away from my grasp before giving Damon a reply.

"Do you see my broody friend around . . . no, so I'm pawning her off on you? See that she makes it to bed in one piece," Caroline instructs authoritatively.

"And why can't _you_ do that might I ask?" Damon asks, aggravated by Caroline's boldness.

"Curfew," Caroline explains lamely. Her voice reaches that pitch which even I know means she's lying. "Apparently being 18 and a vampire is not a good enough excuse to be out all night, so says my mother," Caroline elaborates sarcastically. Damon eyes her skeptically, but ultimately relents.

"Fine," he sighs heavily. "I'll get drunky to bed," Damon agrees as Caroline speeds out the door. "I suppose you're expecting me to carry you?" He questions unenthusiastically. I smile real big up at him as I extend my arms like a small child asking to be picked up. Damon cradles me in his arms as I nuzzle his bare chest like a cat, not caring about the remaining water seeping into my clothing. Peace overtakes me in his arms. It's not until Damon approaches Stefan's room that panic sets in.

"No," I order forcefully. Damon stares down at me in puzzlement. No doubt he assumed that my panic attack from last night was only a fluke. But I'm not ready to share a bed with Stefan again, not yet anyway. Aside from that, he's made his position on my late night outings with Caroline perfectly clear. If he smelled the alcohol on my breath, he'd know that I lied about staying with Jeremy all day. Distance is better. It will all be clearer in the morning once the room stops spinning.

"Stefan wouldn't like it," I remind Damon carefully. "Me like this. It's not exactly the image that he has of me. I don't want to disappoint him," I elaborate gloomily, my buzz taking a serious hit. Something about my answer deeply troubles Damon, because I can see him grinding his teeth in frustration as he holds me tighter.

"Stefan should worry about him disappointing you not the other way around," Damon argues, indignant at his little brother's judgment of my behavior.

"Please," I plead weakly. "Just tonight, can we forget about Stefan, at least until I stop seeing double?" I groan inwardly.

He nods his head in understanding and walks me down the hall to my old room and tucks me in for the third time in a month. Once the blankets are tucked under my chin, Damon sits down beside me on the bed. His hand reaches up as if to brush the stray hair from my face, but at the last second winces and thinks better of it.

"Just so we're clear," Damon states seriously. "You're sleeping alone tonight. I don't care how many times you gaze up with those pretty doe eyes or how drunk or needy you're feeling. You're a big girl and certainly old enough to self soothe," he claims mockingly, and my buzz takes a deeper hit. The tequila still makes my head fuzzy, but my mind is clearing up enough to be depressed that Damon won't be staying. At the same time, I feel a surge of admiration for Damon standing up for himself and for Stefan.

"Look at you, being a good big brother," I tease playfully. Damon of course is incapable of taking a compliment.

"Brotherhood has nothing to do with it," he lies terribly. "I really don't want to get vomit in my hair if you hurl during the night," Damon declares jokingly. I laugh lightly at his ridiculous sense of humor.

"You're _really_ annoying," I proclaim, one part playful and one part irritated. Has anyone ever told you that?" We're back to our status quo of the teasing back and forth, and it feels even better than I thought it would.

"I'm sure you have repeatedly," Damon answers lightly. "How am I irritating you today?" He asks teasingly

"Carrying me upstairs, tucking me in, doing right by Stefan," I list in a series. "You're being annoying by being perfect." Damon scoffs at my constant contradictions.

"So before it was a problem that I acted like a vampire, and now it's a problem that I'm acting like a human being," Damon restates with mockery and a light edge of contempt. I know I'm being ridiculous, but it doesn't stop it from being true.

"It sounds kind of stupid when you say it like that," I admit reluctantly. "Truth is the whole chivalrous understanding thing makes it really hard on a girl," I add, more honestly than I intend.

"I'm so sorry that I've made life so difficult," Damon fakes remorse. "Please enlighten me how I can make your life simpler."

"I think the answer's obvious," I respond earnestly. "Stop being nice to me, possibly wear looser clothing, and maybe stop working out, because my God those abs with that face." And the unintentional honesty just keeps on coming. My word vomit seems to be spewing all over the room, and I just know these words will come back to haunt me. Luckily after Damon stops laughing at me, he takes a tiny ounce of pity on me.

"I'm going to cut you off before you say _more_ things you'll be mortified about tomorrow," he informs me intensely. This is the moment that I _should _shut the Hell up, fall asleep, or order Damon out of the room. Instead I make the ill-advised decision to open my mouth.

"I could steal a move out of the Damon Salvatore playbook and compel you to forget the whole thing. Who knows Elijah might agree to help." And with that, the secret's out. No amount of bed covers can hide me from the truth.

"So that's what this was about," Damon announces, evasive and frustrated. "Two weeks of ignoring me all because of a couple of forgotten memories." My fighting instincts reemerge at the sound of his indifference towards his actions.

"You don't get to do that," I reply angrily. "You don't get to act like it's nothing." I'm almost sober now. The alcohol has burned through my system, and I can feel everything now, the indignation, the pain, and the fury. He ALWAYS does this, but he can't anymore. I won't let him. I NEED to see him just as he is, so if I can't hide than neither can he. But Damon was never going to make it easy on me. I think it's against his moral code.

"It was nothing," Damon asserts predictably. "I compelled you to forget that I loved you. Which I'm sure was _breaking news_ before I told you, _twice_." Damon's sarcasm oozes freely from his mouth, but instead of sparking further anger, it only breaks my heart. He still doesn't understand.

"It's not just because of what you said," I whisper softly.

"Then what was it?" Damon inquires curiously, but distantly.

"It was your intention," I explain. "It was your heart. It was your desire to protect me, even if it tore you apart." There's a flicker, a speck of a flame in his eyes, but it dies by some unknown gust of wind, and the night is left cold.

"Screw intentions," he bites back bitterly. "It still doesn't change anything." He's protecting himself, because he doesn't believe me. I've hurt him too many times.

"It changes everything!" I swear wholeheartedly. Why does he think I kept it a secret for so long if it was meaningless?

"Really?" Damon questions with mock surprise. "Well that _is_ breaking news. So you've broken up with Stefan then?" Damon asks expectantly. I hang my head in a sign of shame. Okay, maybe not _that_ much has changed.

"No, but . . ."

"But nothing," Damon interrupts aggressively. "Things are the same as they've always been, so in keeping with that theme, I'm going to get shit faced at the Grille and you're going to do what you do best, nothing."

He leaves on that note. I'm left with unanswered questions, unresolved feelings, and a sense of direction for the first time in weeks. Everything Damon said was right. If I do nothing with how I feel, then it really is meaningless. So I have a plan now: sober up, break up with Stefan, find Damon, and tell him everything. Either way it needs to wait till tomorrow. Stefan's nowhere in sight and I owe him the truth. We've been through too much for me to burn bridges now. Damon might have been right before. Maybe those memories didn't change anything then, but they change _everything_ now.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	11. Chapter 11

**This might be a little later update than usual, but it also is the longest chapter that I've ever written, so hopefully that makes up for it. This chapter will be pretty Stelena heavy, because that is sort of unavoidable. I do hope that I adequately explain why Elena was forcing herself to stay stuck in a miserable relationship, and why Stefan was so content to let her. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and it took hours upon hours to write, so please take the time, leave a review, and make my day. Reviews=Love. Really they do. It's been mathematically proven. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. **

As a human, I welcomed the morning light streaming into my room. It signaled the start of a new day, a better day than the last, but as a vampire, my eyes flinch from the harsh brightness of its shine. But with every weakness, there is a corresponding strength, so even after drinking mine AND Caroline's weight in alcohol, I don't detect any a hint of a hangover. What is easily detectable is the delicate sound of the hovering vampire outside my door. The uncertainty in his steps tells me the identity of my doorway guardian.

"You can come on in," I invite courteously. After a day and a half of avoidance, it's time to face the music. I expect Stefan to be angry, furious, for once again turning to the elder Salvatore just when things get rough. But instead he's cautious, almost fearful, and it's easy to see the figurative egg shells that he's walking on as he enters my room.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," he apologizes regretfully. "I just didn't know if you were up for training today. We missed it yesterday while you were out with Jeremy." I inwardly shrink a little at the mention of my white lie. Instead of opening the king size can of worms that would come from telling the truth, I brush right past it.

"No training today, but if you're up for a walk, I'd like to go. We should talk," I reply forebodingly.

Stefan's no fool, so he senses the ominous change in my tone, but he accepts my counter-offer graciously, with a false smile that wouldn't convince the village idiot of his sincerity. Five minutes of fretful silence follows us both for the early stretch of our outdoor excursion. Just as I'm summoning the courage to begin my pre-rehearsed speech, Stefan beats me to the punch.

"You can start the breakup speech whenever you're ready," Stefan announces calmly. He sneaks one look at my wide open mouth and my questioning eyes and replies snidely, "Give me a little credit, Elena. My brother carrying you out of my bed is a pretty clear signal. I'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see it." A few sentences are all it takes to set me off balance. I had a speech. It was preplanned and orchestrated, but Stefan has thrown me off kilter by reading my lines before I even had a chance to speak it out loud. After a moment to compose myself, I adapt with a new script in mind.

"This isn't just about Damon," I clarify earnestly, because I won't let him be the scapegoat for all our problems.

"It's about that night on the bridge," Stefan guesses astutely. The telltale furrowing of his brow shows me just how guilt ridden he still is about that night. I'm already leaving him. There's no need to pour more salt on the wound.

"I know that nightmare drudged up some scars for both of us, but you need to know I don't blame you," I claim, unpersuasively.

Stefan sees right through it and scoffs, "Of course you blame me. I blame me," he remarks remorsefully.

"That's not true," I argue fruitlessly, desperate for him to believe the kind lie. "I know why you did all of it. You left Mystic Falls to save Damon's life and everything that happened after was the result of that decision. Damon's alive and so are you, so it's . . ." As I realize what I was about to say, I stop myself, talk about an unfortunate choice of words. But Stefan picks up on my reluctance and pounces on it.

"What were you going to say?" He asks timidly, afraid of hearing the truth.

"Forget it. It's nothing," I attempt to assure him.

"Elena," he says reproachfully. I don't want to say it, but it turns out Damon isn't the only one to have inherited the Salvatore stubbornness, so I relent.

"Its water under the bridge is what I was going to say," I answer hesitantly. If words had the power to punch you in the gut, I'd say those words would have pierced a hole through his stomach. Stefan regains whatever strength that he's clinging to as he seeks to face me down once again.

"But you didn't finish that sentence because of how you thought it might make me feel," Stefan presumes correctly. "I think those words illustrate how not fine things are between us. You're already breaking up with me," Stefan reminds me, heartbroken at the truth in his own words. "If we can't be honest when we're together, then at least can we be honest when we're not?"

"I don't know what you want me to say," I respond tearfully. Does he really want me to drag his heart through the mud and stomp on it? Will that make us even?

"I need the truth," he confesses assuredly. "How do you feel about my actions after I left Mystic Falls?" Stefan asks expectantly. He's hanging on my every word, and it kills me to push harder on the knife already lodged in his heart, but he's right. We spent months lying to each other, protecting each other from a shred of honesty, and look where it's gotten us. Our secrets destroyed the relationship that we worked so tirelessly to build, and I'll be damned if it destroys whatever chance we have of being friends after all this.

"I felt unworthy, unwanted, and all around not good enough," I admit honestly. My own heart lies open, exposed, for all the world to see.

"Elena, what I did it has nothing to do with you," Stefan tries to convince me. He pleads with his eyes for an ounce of understanding. A request I cannot find it within myself to grant.

"No," I reply angrily, "you just did it in spite of me." I bite back fiercely. My open wounds begin to ache, and I can't keep that pain buried any longer. Stefan's face clearly shows his understanding. He's trying to be respectful, careful, not to add to my suffering any more than he already has. Soothing me with his calming voice, he attempts to explain himself, and I try to hear him out.

"I did it because of darkness inside of myself," he confesses with some difficulty, "a darkness that I felt incapable of fighting, not for you, not for anyone."

"Not for anyone except for Damon," I jump in heatedly. "I mean Christ Stefan you fought through an original's compulsion twice to save him, but you refused to even let yourself feel for me. Do you have any idea how it felt for my _boyfriend_, the one person who was supposed to love me the most, to essentially choose nothingness over me?"

With a tiny loss of my temper, I've revealed my inner turmoil over these last several months. It isn't everything, not by a long shot, but I feel freer not having to lie about my feelings anymore. Stefan stares at me baffled and crushed, by my anger, by his guilt, by the weight of all of it.

"Then why," he asks desperately, "if you felt this way all along, why pick me at all? Why didn't you say that I'd lost you forever like you did with Damon last year? Why not make me earn back your trust?"

Danger, Danger Will Robinson goes off in my head. I was hoping partial honesty would suffice, a tiny nugget of truth that could stave off this conversation. But by the determination present on Stefan's face, he's not leaving without an answer.

"Because I needed you to love me," I reply dramatically. My vulnerability is on full display as I see the pity in Stefan's eyes.

"Why?" He asks sympathetically, which only makes me feel worse.

"Because your rejection made me feel a stronger sense of unworthiness that festered long before you and I started dating," I explain for the first time.

"If this didn't start with me, then when?" Stefan finally asks the million dollar question.

"The night my parents died," I respond mournfully, with a few more tears staining my already puffy face. "They call it survivor's guilt," I recount distantly, "this feeling that you don't deserve to live when others didn't."

"You didn't feel good enough, because your father died saving you," Stefan concludes at last.

"Yes," I acknowledge uneasily, "and ever since that night, I've tried to live up to some ideal that I carried around in my head of the perfect daughter. When you repeatedly rejected me, I couldn't help feeling like if I was better, purer, that maybe I would finally be good enough for you, good enough for them. And after you almost drove me off that bridge, I became desperate for your approval, for your love, as some sort of validation. It's like I needed you to love me to prove that I was still worthy of it, that I was still the good girl that my parents raised. I should have realized that my recent vampirism means that's kind of shot to Hell," I comment cynically.

"You're not the same girl that I rescued from the water," Stefan clearly states what I already know. "And that's okay, because I'm _not_ the same man who saved you. Sooner or later, we've got to stop hating ourselves for that." Stefan talks like it's simple like I can just wake up one day and be fixed, be healed, by simply willing it to be so.

"You don't understand," I argue tiredly.

"Oh I do," he challenges with certainty. "I understand better than you can imagine."

"How?"

"Because I needed you to love me too," Stefan elaborates simply. He runs his fingers through his hair as he paces back and forth. "You spent what a few days feeling like Frankenstein's monster after you turned? I felt that way for 146 years. For so long, I saw myself as a villain, an animal, never truly accepting who I really was. I buried it down so deep that I thought I could escape it. When I met you, when you told me you loved me, I saw my redemption in you. I saw a chance to be someone worthy of love again. If someone as good and pure hearted as you could love me, then maybe I was destined for more than just evil."

Suddenly I see this broken man more clearly than I ever did when we were together. Of course, I recognized the self-loathing, the brooding. It was undeniable, but I never stopped to wonder what being loved could do to a person, or what they would do to keep it.

"But you didn't show me the real you," I mention gently. "For over a year, you hid the worst parts of yourself, because you didn't think anyone could love you for your true self, but they can Stefan. Even with all the bad stuff, you're still a good man. If you would just open yourself up, people would see what I see."

"And what's that?" Stefan asks hopefully, a dull light sparking behind his eyes at my optimistic words.

"A kind heart," I answer plainly, "one that struggles with the same conflicts that we all do, inner flaws like jealousy, anger, and resentment. I'm afraid you're just as screwed up as the rest of us," I add lightly. "But if you let someone love the_ real_ you, then maybe you could find a way to love yourself."

Stefan smiles gratefully at the compassion that he doesn't think he deserves. His voice takes on a new strength and acceptance as he speaks again, and I hope that in some way, I played a small part in helping him find that inner might.

"Maybe I could," he concedes thoughtfully, wishfully, "but that doesn't change the outlook for you and me, because the simple fact is we're not right for each other anymore. Those damaged people who met in that water maybe they needed each other, but then we grew up," Stefan proclaims, with a brief smile of contentment flashing across his face. "I can embrace being a vampire, and you, you're stronger, more independent. You don't need me to protect you from the world anymore. You can face it all on your own. He pauses for a moment, apparently needing the dramatic effect. "But that doesn't mean that you should have to," Stefan finishes solemnly.

"Stefan," I call out apologetically.

"No," he interrupts softly. "It's okay. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was fate, destiny, tragedy, and love. We can't forget that there was love too," he states nostalgically. "You need to know that I meant what I said when I told you that I will always love you. I can't keep you anymore." I can tell he's struggling to keep it together and choking on words of regret laced with pain. "For whatever its still worth," Stefan declares humbly, "I'll spend the rest of my eternal life regretting all that I've done to harm yours."

"Please," I beg, "don't do that. You may not be able to forgive yourself, but I can, because I do still love you." Stefan reaches up to lightly wipe the tear cascading down my cheek.

"I don't know if I ever stopped holding on to that," he confesses. "But it's not enough anymore, because that love has changed. And that's alright, because I don't need you to find redemption. It's no secret I wanted this to work. I wanted us to pick right up where we left off, but mostly I wanted that girl that I met the first day of junior year, but you're not her anymore. And I can't spend the rest of eternity loving someone who no longer exists. It might seem like little consolation, but I'm glad, at the end at least, that we can finally see each other for who we truly are." I release a pitiful laugh.

"If only I could see others as clearly," I speak my inner monologue out loud.

"You're being enigmatic and cryptic," Stefan teases. "Am I to assume that you're talking about my brother?"

"I'm that obvious?" I ask, embarrassed at my transparency.

"How about we just agree that I'm super observant and leave it at that," he offers obligingly. "My brother's a tough nut to crack. He's a metaphorical onion trapped in a labyrinth and locked in a safe, that is then buried underground. Not exactly the easiest person to get to know."

"Some days I question whether I ever really knew him," I admit forlornly.

"Of course you did," Stefan disputes. "He opened up to you in ways that he hasn't in over a hundred years, and that's no small thing," Stefan assures me. "You do know him, as much he lets you, as much as he lets any of us." While my profusely polite ex is too kind to ask, I can tell he's wondering what brought all this on.

"He kept something from me, a secret," I profess comfortably. "Most sane people keep secrets about the worst things that they've ever done, but Damon hides . . ."

"The best," Stefan finishes my thought effortlessly.

"He tried to explain it once," I elaborate. "Told me that he didn't want to have to live up to anyone's expectations, but I know what he really meant. He just didn't want to live up to mine," I contend.

"That isn't true," Stefan denies forcefully. I glance appreciatively at him for the effort, but he's wrong.

"I'm grateful for the well intentioned comforting, but Damon all but told me as much." Stefan chuckles to himself, and I've got no clue what's so damn funny about the dire state of my love life.

"I know you think that becoming a vampire has limited your possible future career options," Stefan declares, still amused by some unknown joke. "But please promise me that if you ever do pursue higher education that you never waste your time in psychology, because you're missing what any Psych 101 student would see."

"And what's that?" I question defensively. I consider taking a swing at him, and see if he's still laughing then.

"He's not worried that he'll be _forced_ to live up to your expectations. Damon's afraid of _failing_ to live up to them." Once Stefan is through with his explanation, all traces of humor have vanished; apparently it's not funny anymore.

"Why," is the only word I can think of as silence hangs in the air. "I _always_ believed in him. What would make Damon think that he wasn't enough for me?"

Stefan grows uncharacteristically quiet and unsure. Whatever he's hiding, it isn't something he likes to talk about.

"Please," I beseech him. "I need to know." Stefan sighs in resignation and nods his head in acceptance.

"You had parents who loved you unconditionally," Stefan states candidly. "It's easy to take that for granted." Once the words are out, I know where this conversation is headed. It almost breaks my heart too much for him to continue, but before I can raise an objection, Stefan carries on.

"After our mother died, Damon and I lost any chance of unconditional love," Stefan recounts, struggling with every word. "Our father was a hard man who demanded absolute obedience. Try and imagine Damon conforming to someone else's will. When dear old dad couldn't force Damon to heel on command, he lashed out at him in the only way he could. He withheld love and affection. Time and time again he reminded Damon what a colossal disappointment he was. Would you be so willing to share your heart with the world if the one person who was supposed to love you couldn't? Katherine certainly didn't help, but by the time that she got him, the damage was already done. She was simply the straw that broke the camel's back, and he simply didn't know how to recover from that."

"A situation that was only made worse by me," I conclude hopelessly. Memories flash through my mind of all the times that I've made Damon feel the same way that his father did, the same way Stefan made me feel, unworthy. Before I slip deeply into despair, Stefan throws me a life preserver.

"No," he disagrees confidently. "You were the one person that brought him back from all that."

I don't believe him. Stefan's sure of his position, and I'm sure of mine. Neither of us is likely to budge, so I skirt the issue for the time being.

"Be that as it may," I evade gracefully, "how can I break through his barriers if he won't let me?" If I'm going to fix this, I need to focus on the future, and not dwell on the past.

"He'll let you," Stefan promises certainly. "He might kick yell and scream every step of the way, but I'm not worried. You're just as stubborn as he is, so don't take no or go to Hell for an answer." I smile real big, a genuine smile, probably the first real one that Stefan's seen on my face since he left. It feels good to talk with him like this. I almost believe we really can make it as friends. Hopefully as my friend, he's willing to indulge me one last favor.

"If we're being all transparent now, can I ask a question?"

"Anything," Stefan replies instantly.

"Caroline told me a story about Damon sacrificing himself to protect her. And I was just wondering if you have a story? Was there ever a time when Damon acted like more than the self-involved ass that he pretends to be and you didn't tell me?"

"Yes," Stefan answers immediately, "do you want me to list them chronologically, or in order of importance?" Stefan asks his question with a casual nonchalance that throws me for a loop.

"How many times were there?" I demand, frustrated at how much both Salvatores apparently kept from me.

"Too many," Stefan replies wearily, like he's in need of a stiff drink.

"So why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because he wouldn't want me to," Stefan responds simply. He was respecting his brother's wishes. Why am I not surprised?

"I once told you that what he would want and what we should do are two different things," I remind him gently. "I'm pretty sure that still holds true. Damon doesn't want people to see his true self, but that's just too damn bad. He might be old enough to have invented stubbornness, but I perfected it, and he's not hiding anymore, not if I can help it."

"Well it's about time," Stefan declares proudly.

"What?"

"I feared the fight in you had died out over the past few weeks," Stefan elaborates. "It's nice to know your lion heart is still in there. I'm happy that Damon can bring it out in you, even if I couldn't." Suddenly pesky reality creeps back in. I'm reminded how unfair this all is.

"Stefan, are you . . . are you going to be okay?" I ask nervously.

"You know me," he replies in good humor. "I'll brood, stare at fireplaces, but I'll survive. I've got Caroline on speed dial. She'll be practically giddy when I finally agree to take her up on her offer to sample the bars on the outskirts of town. Apparently I'm in desperate need of a vampire pub crawl." His joke breaks up the intense melancholy that was threatening to overtake us.

"At least I know you're in capable hands," I reply, relieved that Stefan will have an actual cheerleader to perk him up. "Quick tip though," I caution. "Don't let yourself get drunker than Caroline. She has ways of making you talk." I kid, mysteriously.

"What?" Stefan asks, perplexed.

"Don't ask," I suggest wisely.

Stefan laughs a little before making the trek back to the house. Just as we're approaching the front door, he turns around and faces me. "If you ever do want to hear the stories about Damon, just ask. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. I'm not going to enable Damon's little act anymore. And FYI, I don't think Caroline and I are the only ones with a story. I'm sure we all have at least one."

"I appreciate the gesture," I respond sincerely. "How about we save those stories for another time? I have someplace I need to be, and something tells me it's not going to be easy."

"Another time," Stefan agrees, as he pulls me into a friendly hug. "I'll be around if you need me," he expresses warmly.

"Me too," I return the sentiment, as Stefan heads inside.

Once I'm all alone again, I plan, strategize, and try to hammer out phase two of my plan. I identified my feelings for Damon, and I broke up with Stefan, but a persistent warning in the back of my head tells me that was the easy part. Convincing Damon that I love him and that he should trust me will be infinitely more difficult. But I won't give up on him this time. I owe him more than that. Damon can pitch whatever hissy fit he likes, but one way or another this story is going to have a happy ending. There will be sunshine and rainbows and possibly Florence and the Machine playing in the background. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow morning, the sunshine will be a symbol again, that is the start of something new, something better. I for one can't wait.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	12. Chapter 12

**I am so, so, so sorry! I know that this chapter is majorly late and I cannot apologize enough. I wanted to update this last Sunday, but I came down with the world's worst ear infection, and the pain made it impossible to write. I can now eat and sleep again, so I thought I'd finally finish this much awaited chapter. I promise that the next update will be much much sooner. Forgive me yet?**

**(I'll assume that you said yes and move on.)**

**I feel even worse because the response from the last chapter was AMAZING! 20 whole reviews, I haven't gotten that many for any chapter of this story by far! I also got so many more alerts and favorites for this story. I think a lot of those alerts were because Cher Sue might have told you to read this story in one of her chapters. **

**It is impossible not to listen to her. Try it sometime, it's really hard. On that note, acting in the role as her fan fiction publicist, because we've decided that's a thing now, go read her story Separate Beds. Not right this second, because it is 40 chapters long, and it would take you all a week before you remembered to read mine, but later, after you've read and reviewed this chapter. Also if you have just crazy amounts of time, read her story When Love and Hate Collides. They are both crazy good and you won't regret it. I said you should do it in an author's note, so you have to listen to me. It's like the law or something, an unwritten one, so don't even try and look it up on Google.**

**(Add in pause for laughter at the idea that any of you would actually buy this) **

**(Are you done laughing? . . . Good, let's move on.)**

**This chapter is long in coming, so I really hope you guys like it. If you do, just drop me a comment in that little box at the bottom. I don't care what you guys say in the review. It can be as simple as nice chapter, but please make me feel even better by leaving a review. I'm still a little sick, so your review might make my day. Be a humanitarian. :)**

"Fucking teenagers," I curse to myself as I down my latest glass of bourbon. Despite the nostalgic fuzzy feelings evoked by books, movies, and those lame teen dramas, the angsty formative years known as adolescence must rank as the worst phase of human development. If I believed in a higher power, I'd be inclined to think that the teen years were God's curse on humanity. If so, the man upstairs must be laughing his ass off right about now at the havoc one pint sized teenage vampire has caused in my life.

Fortunately, yours truly was spared the horror of being stuck in perpetual teeny bopper drama for all eternity. If only my broody little brother and a certain infuriating brunette, whose name will not be mentioned during drinking fun time, had been as lucky, I might not have taken up residence on this lumpy, uneven stool in this second rate excuse for a bar. Sadly the only luck I've been having as of late is bad, like breaking a room full of mirrors, walking under 1,000 ladders, and allowing a parade of black cats to cross my path bad.

Not only am I stuck watching my brother play the doting boyfriend to the girl I always hoped would be mine, but to top it all off, said unnamed girl seems intent on keeping me in this nowhere town, somewhat against my will. And if all that wasn't bad enough, she keeps dragging out the emotional turmoil of our will they/won't they relationship with these truly depressing nighttime conversations. They all start out promising, with declarations of devotion, longing stares, and forbidden touches, but inevitably it all goes to Hell, and we're back to square fucking one. No matter what she says, nothing changes and I'm beginning to accept that nothing ever will.

Just as I'm about to unleash what will undoubtedly be a rather embarrassing rant in front of a couple of town drunks and Donnie the bartender, trouble walks in, dressed to the nines, and clearly on a mission. "Just what this town needs," I mumble under my breath, "another teenage girl."

The young stranger couldn't be older than 18, and the super short skirt coupled with the plunging neckline screams daddy issues. She's practically a walking cliché. A few years ago, this would've been much simpler. I would've charmed the young woman, used some foolproof line to lure her into my bed and fed on her till I'd had my fill. By morning, she'd be freshly compelled and none the wiser. But in an unfortunate turn of events, my typical playbook was thrown out once she who must not be named walked into my life and started extoling the virtues of not murdering people, not messing with people's minds, and not even threatening to murder people. You know sissy stuff.

Just as the bartender pours me another glass of my second favorite drink, the young newcomer slides gracefully into the stool next to me. "You looked lonely," she flirts alluringly, displaying all the classic signs of a women looking for a good time. As she practically undresses me with her eyes, I peer back disinterested. Tonight I'm not really game for some no name young thing to use my body to forget about her problems. That's my move. It's like she's stealing it.

"On the contrary honey," I correct her, more rudely than is technically necessary. "I'm the town misanthrope. Haven't you heard? You see that guy sitting at the end of the bar," I point to my left. "Before I came in, he was sitting on the same stool you are. When I sat down, he moved five spaces," I inform her proudly. It only took my piercing stare all of four seconds to work before he vacated his spot.

Her face cracks into an impressed smile, as she continues to eye me like I'm her prey. The irony isn't lost on me. "Any chance you could bend the rules and buy a pretty girl a drink? I've had a bit of a day," she tries again persistently.

Not only is she intent on flirting with me, but apparently she wants to get me arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. What could this young kid know about a bad day? I practically invented the term. "Did you break a nail; get a D on your Bio midterm?" I joke mockingly at whatever pitiful problem she's blown up in her mind.

"Dad died," she deadpans seriously, and continues without skipping a beat. "He's been missing for weeks, and they found his body today in the quarry," the girl explains, with an undercurrent of anger at my flippant attitude. I signal the bartender to pour an apology drink, not that I call it that, for my mystery seatmate. Since I'm assuming she's referring to the self-righteous ass that Elena killed a few weeks ago, I suppose it would be rude not to at least supply the alcohol to drown her sorrows.

Not that I feel guilty that he's dead, because I would've killed him myself without blinking. He caused one Hell of a mess. Luckily, after he was dead, all the semi-competent members of the council were gone, so it was easy to get them off the vervain and compel them to forget all about their vampire infestation. Life in Mystic Falls had returned to a strange state of normalcy. Here's hoping this girl wouldn't be an idiot and screw that all up. It would be a shame to have to kill her too.

As she down the burning liquid like a pro, I look on in admiration. This girl just got interesting, so I probe a little deeper, while maintaining a distant apathetic tone. "Shouldn't you be at home, comforting your crying mother or something?" I question callously. Surely a girl like this has somebody to look after her.

"I would if dear old Dad hadn't have killed her," she replies, equally blasé about the whole thing. I've seen enough carefully honed facades to know one when it's staring me in the face. Great, I think to myself, now I'm going to have spend my time actually _caring_ instead of drinking myself into oblivion. Thank you very much Elena Gilbert. Damn feelings, double damn, I had vowed not to mention her name. Drinking fun time is officially over.

"So why wasn't your dad serving 20 to life when he kicked the bucket," I inquire curiously.

"Apparently killing vampires isn't a punishable offense in this town," she replies casually. After sparing a glance at my shocked expression she scoffs. "Please don't pretend not to know what I'm talking about. The sheriff already told me you're the head of the founder's council. So I assume you're just as anti-vampire as the rest of those morons."

I carefully choose my words as I try to feel this mystery girl out and pump her for information. "You want to tell me you're not?" I ask in disbelief. "Last I checked vampires were evil murderous monsters. They make movies about it and everything."

At the word monsters, the strange teenager flinches slightly and her aura of indifference takes a hit. "You don't know what you're talk about," she informs me coolly.

"Well enlighten me," I challenge her daringly, wanting to know just what makes this girl tick.

"My mother _was not_ a monster," she argues defiantly. Her eyes burning with a protective fire. After taking a few calming breaths, she recounts the childhood story with a haunted tragic look gracing her delicate features.

"You know she kept it a secret for months before my father figured it out," she begins bitterly. "She was visiting a friend in Atlanta when she was attacked. After that, she spent weeks away, gaining control before she came back home. I don't care what anyone says, that was still my mother," the girl claims fervently. "She still read stories to help me fall asleep, cooked me soup when I was sick, and crawled into my bed when the thunderstorms would frighten me. So the way I see it, she had more humanity inside of her than most living, breathing, human beings."

"So what happened?" I ask, with unusual amount of sympathy. Her story reminds me of my own father shooting Stefan and I in the chests for daring to side with the vampires. Turns out I had a lot more in common with this mystery girl than I realized. We were both just a couple of sad orphans with bastards for fathers. I take a moment to appreciate the company of a kindred spirit. Who knows, if this girl is cool with Elena murdering her father, maybe she could be my new drinking buddy. While no one could ever fill the shoes of my fallen friend, it wouldn't suck to have someone else to talk to about Elena, Stefan, and whatever the Hell I talked about when I'm not talking about Elena or Stefan. The girl is silently sitting there as I muse about her possible promotion to drinking buddy, mulling over whether to reveal the painful details of her mother's death to a complete stranger. Something in my face, must pass for understanding, because she finishes the story unhappily, swirling her glass in her hands.

"One day, she accidentally exposed herself because of me," she admits with considerable guilt weighing her down. "I scraped my knee from falling off my bike, and when I showed her the wound, the veins near her eyes popped out, and she couldn't hide it from my father fast enough. He took the nearest stake and drove it through her heart as I watched. He didn't even give her a chance to explain. Just like that my mother was gone. The next week I was shipped off to boarding school, because apparently calling my father a murderer several times a day started to wear on his razor thin patience. I haven't seen him since. Good riddance," the girl proclaims as she finishes her second drink.

While my next statement could be construed as remarkably stupid, I blame it entirely on the alcohol. "Would it make you feel better if I told you he suffered?" I ask expectantly. Her face transforms into one of shock and suspicion as she tries to wrap her brain around my question.

"How could you possibly know that?" She questions me cautiously. I could be a lunatic for all she knows.

"Because I'm in love with the vampire who killed him," I confess honestly, waiting patiently for her reaction. After a long beat, she reacts nonchalantly.

"Well I guess I owe your girlfriend a drink," the puzzling girl replies with an almost satisfied smile.

"She's not my girlfriend," I contradict abruptly. My tone coming off as harsh and livid and it sparks a rising of the eyebrows in my new confidant.

"Ahh," she responds smugly. "So that's why you're sitting in this bar feeling sorry for yourself. You've got girl problems." Her former heaviness that she walked in with appears to have vanished at the sight of a new project, and I'm afraid that project is me. "Luckily for you," she adds sickeningly sweet, "I am an expert in girl problems. The name is April Young," she finally introduces herself. "How can I help?"

"No, no, no," I resist determinedly. "I came here to forget. Talking about my feelings like I'm some teenage girl is the opposite of forgetting. So if you're going to continue pressing me about my personal life, I'm going to have to fire you as my potential drinking buddy, and you haven't even interviewed yet," I add lightly.

April chuckles at my defiant streak, and suggests her new idea. "It would be awfully sad to be fired before you even hired me, so here is my counter-proposal. How about we both finish that bottle of bourbon behind the bar, and we keep drinking till you forget all about your mystery girl?"

"As fun as that sounds," I remark, amused at her suggestion. "I'm pretty sure what you're proposing is physically impossible. Believe me I've tried, so my counter-counter-proposal is that _you_ get really drunk, while I remain pleasantly buzzed, and I spend all day laughing at whatever funny things you do or say whilst drunk. I'll even throw in a ride home once you've had enough," I offer graciously. She pretends to take several minutes to ponder my suggestion before agreeing.

The next several hours are spent in a pleasant state of laughter and mockery, mostly mockery. When it looks like April is about to fall over, I scoop her up and walk her to my car. Once she sits down in the passenger's side, the alcohol does crazy things to her brain, and she starts to get really handsy. Her fingertips are skimming over the top of my shirt in what I'm sure is meant to be seductive. Sadly the slurring of her words makes it hard to take April seriously. "You know what helps me forget," April mumbles, semi-coherently.

"What's that," I play along.

"Sex," she whispers secretly. Out of nowhere she plants one sloppy kiss on me, and tries to grab hold of the back of my head. Just as I'm about to push her away, and explain all of the many reasons that I would not be sleeping with her, a whoosh of air passes between us. As I focus on the movement, I see that my car door is gone on the passenger's side. It was ripped from its hinges, and April was thrown from the car. When I look up to determine the culprit, I see a seething Elena, veins extending across her face in a state of fury at the girl on the ground.

"Mine," she hisses territorially at a frightened, drunk April lying on the ground.

Since this looks like a bloodbath waiting to happen, I intercede immediately, taking control of the situation. "April, go inside and call a cab," I order adamantly. She slinks back to the Grille, terror on her face as she leaves. "And you," I bark loudly at Elena, "tell me where your car is, because I'm driving it home. It seems some psycho took it upon herself to break my damn car door."

Once April is gone, and the yelling starts, Elena returns to her usual guilt ridden self. She glances at the door that is lying five feet from my car, and she looks like the kid who got caught red handed with their fingers in the cookie jar. She tries to apologize, but I cut her off immediately. "Just get in the car Elena," I demand with my barely controlled temper threatening to explode.

On the ride to the boardinghouse, not a word is spoken by either of us. Most people fight harder the angrier they become, but Elena and I pass a certain point in an argument and we stop talking entirely. That's when I know that a fight has reached a critical juncture, when the silence descends. The time stuck in thoughtful meditation only fuels my anger more, so by the time the car stops, I'm ready to go nuclear.

Elena chooses this time to unwisely break the silence once more. "Damon, I'm sorr . . ."

"Don't," I warn furiously. "_Don't say a single word_," I advise her sternly. "For once you are going to listen to me," I demand harshly.

"Okay," is all she whispers back in response. Her hands fold together in her lap as she waits to hear me out.

"How dare you," I start with fiery bout of rage, my voice clearly passing into yelling territory. "Where do you get off laying claim on me, when you have made it abundantly clear time and time again that I will always be your second choice?"

"Damon," she attempts to interrupt.

"I said no talking," I roughly bark at her. "I don't want to hear it," I confess with frustrated exhaustion. "I don't want to hear another explanation or another excuse, because I've heard them all, and I've passed my quota for caring. I don't care if you got in a fight with Stefan, or if you had a nightmare, or if you were simply feeling depressed today and you needed your love sick puppy dog to give you a confidence boost. It doesn't matter why you came to find me, because the fact is that _you promised me_ that you would let me go. You looked me in the eye and swore that you wouldn't keep holding on. Since that day, you've done the exact opposite, and I'm sick of it. I'm tired of you clinging to me at the exact moment that you feel me slipping away. I'm tired of you claiming to need me only to jerk me around. I've been really fair about this so far. I didn't make a scene when you chose Stefan. I didn't raise Hell when you started ignoring me, and I forgave you when you abruptly decided to start talking to me again. I've given you every chance, and you've screwed up every last one of them, so I'm done. Whatever _this_ is," I state while gesturing between us both, "I don't want to do it anymore. I'm done with you, with this town, with all of it. I'm leaving, and there's no amount of desperate pleading that's going to change my mind," I declare indignantly.

Her eyes are filled to the brim with tears, and while my instinct is always calling to me to comfort her, take away her pain. This time I just can't. For my own sake, for my own survival, I have to be strong this time. Just as I'm about to leave and start packing a bag, I hear her last ditch effort to redeem herself.

"Damon," her voice cracks as she speaks my name. "I love you, and I'm sorry."

The words hang in the air for a moment as I remember how to breathe. A thousand thoughts cross my mind as I formulate a response, but eventually my face hardens and my resolve turns to stone.

"You've done some pretty shitty things in the past Elena, but lying to me just to keep me here, pretending to love me just so you won't lose me, that's low, even by my standards. You can go to Hell," I exclaim boldly.

With that, I just leave her sitting all by herself. There are no more words left to say, no more speeches left to give. Whatever we were, whatever I thought we were, it's over now. I'm finally free of her, and I've never felt so alone.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys, well I said that I would be updating sooner, and I actually did it. Yay me! Granted this chapter had to be cut short, because it sort of got away from me. Besides I figured it was better to leave you guys hanging, because you all yell at me way more when I do that. It's kind of fun. *Evil laugh* Anyways, thank you all so, so much for your response to the last chapter. I had some very . . . passionate opinions about what happened. I always love that. **

**I also have to thank Cher Sue for being such a great sounding board for this chapter. There is no way that it would have turned out as well as it did without her, so go read her stories as a thank you, and review them. It's important to be polite. Also if you get the time, review mine too. I really like it. :)**

Away, far far away. It is the only destination I have in mind as I furiously pack my rather limited pile of personal belongings into a bag. A few favorite black shirts, a couple pairs of jeans, and a toothbrush are all that I intend to take with me as I leave behind the one place that was starting to feel like home again. Just as I'm about to shut my dresser, a tiny picture tucked away in the corner catches my eye. It's of me and Elena from about three months ago. It's the only picture I ever cared enough about to keep, and I never even framed it. Unlike most bogus pictures that people keep on their nightstands, this one wasn't posed for. There were no lame smiles or awkward stances. This tiny moment captured on film was real.

It was taken by some tourist couple that was visiting all the small towns of Virginia. They had one of those Polaroid cameras that produced a picture within seconds, and apparently they were very proud of it, because the old man was snapping a photo of everything in sight, including bar stools. At the time, Elena and I were just playing a round of pool at the Grille, and I was teasing her about her complete lack of skills. After she threatened to skewer me with the pool stick, I kindly offered my services as teacher. She smiled, rolled her eyes, and muttered fine in an act of faux protest. In triumphant victory, I cozied up to her, helped her set up her shot, and whispered some not so subtle innuendo in her ear. That was the moment that the old man captured. Looking at the smile on her face, you'd almost think she was happy. Before the couple left to peruse this town's other major landmarks, the old man came up to me and whispered. "This is of you and your lady love. Who knows you might show it to your grandkids one day." I took the picture without a word, and never told Elena what the old man slipped me, despite her rather determined attempts to weasel it out of me. Instead I stuck it in a drawer and looked at it from time to time to remind myself of better days. Without thinking, I stuffed the picture in the bag along with the rest of my things. If I was leaving anyway, what was the harm in keeping something to hold onto?

I try to refocus on the task at hand instead of letting my mind wander any further into dangerous territory, because thoughts lead to feelings and feelings lead to _her_, and she is exactly who I'll go running back to if I'm allowed to think too much. And I don't want that . . . really I don't . . . who the Hell am I kidding. It's a miracle I haven't gone running back already. Fuck it now I'm thinking again.

But I don't regret it I try to tell myself. Everything I said in my rather cathartic release of angry feelings and resentments was true. She rejected me. She abandoned me. She picked someone else. And the second that she thinks I'm happy for half a second; she has to swoop right in and try to ruin it with all her talk of love. She doesn't love me. She can't. All that I had I gave to her, and that wasn't enough. What's she's doing now is just cruel, and I almost hate her for it.

With that, I collect the rest of my things and head out the door. Since my car is currently out of commission thanks to a rather impulsive young vampire, I steal Stefan's keys, rationalizing that I'll ship the car back to him once I'm settled. I make it all the way to the sign for Mystic Falls' city limits, and without warning, the car dies. As in spontaneously stops working, no sparks, no warning lights, and no smoke coming out of the engine, but simply ceases to run. I consider ditching the car and texting Stefan its location, but once I try to vamp speed past the sign, I'm knocked back on my ass. There's some force field literally preventing me from leaving the city limits. It doesn't take two seconds for me to put the pieces together.

Witches, I curse as I lift myself up off the ground. Some nosy, judgmental, good for nothing witch has trapped me in this town, and I know just the girl ballsy enough or stupid enough to pull it off. I watch as other cars go past the invisible barrier while I'm dialing Judgey's number. No answer, so I try Caroline, and then Stefan, but no one picks up their damn phone. Instead all I get is the exact same text message from everyone. _Talk to Elena._ Great, I think to myself, the one thing on Earth that I've been trying to avoid. But I don't give up so easily, I search high and low for the little witch. I check her house, Caroline's house, and finally the Grille.

While Judgey is nowhere in sight, Caroline is parked on my favorite stool dressed as some slutty version of one of Santa's little helpers. After 146 years of being a vampire, now I've seen everything. Bonnie might not be in the immediate vicinity, but I might be able to convince Caroline to squeal. She wants me gone anyway. This is a win-win for her, so I slide in next to her, and order myself a drink.

"What's with the getup Goldilocks?" I tease lightly, hoping to ease into the interrogation portion of our evening.

"What can I say dressing up like an elf satisfies my sense of whimsy," Caroline proclaims, dramatically with hand gestures and sound effects. After she stares at my bewildered face for all of three seconds, she adds. "Also it's Halloween, dumbass," she deadpans perfectly. "I'm dragging Stefan to a party later." Stefan and party, this does not compute. Surely I misheard.

"You mean my baby bro is actually going to have fun, and on a pagan holiday no less," I question feigning shock. "My, my you are a good influence. I should send you a fruit basket, or maybe a blood basket. What's your favorite type? I'm an O negative man myself," I announce, oozing charm effortlessly.

Caroline scoffs at my attempts of buttering her up. "I'm not telling you where Bonnie is," Caroline informs me, cutting right to the chase. "If you want to break this spell, you need to talk to Elena."

"Little problem with that twinkle toes. I wasn't planning on doing that, _ever again_," I mention semi-jokingly. Caroline shakes her head, bangs it against the table, before looking me square in the eyes, and hitting me hard across the back of my head.

"You're an idiot," Caroline exclaims harshly, somehow unconcerned with my murderous rage at her recent bout of aggression. Her face is covered in contempt. "And not just a run of the mill idiot, but a uniquely moronic individual," Caroline continues. "I mean Elena _loves you_," she emphasizes passionately. "How long have you been waiting to hear that? But she finally says it, and instead of locking yourself in the nearest room with a bed, you're sitting here talking to me. So I think you've got bigger problems then where Bonnie is at the moment."

I've never been known for taking criticism that well, and Blondie's trying my rather limited span of patience. "I don't know what load of bull Elena's been telling you, but this isn't about love. She doesn't want me, but she sure as Hell doesn't want anyone else to have me. I'm sure the second I agree to stay Elena will remember about her eternal love for Stefan, and I'll be back to being her good buddy. Forgive me for not wanting to sign up for an eternity of that special brand of Hell."

"That might be a little difficult since she broke up with Stefan this morning," Caroline declares smugly. The sip of bourbon that was previously in my mouth spews across the bar and lands on the new bartender, Donnie.

"Not again," Donnie grumbles as he grabs a towel to wipe his shirt, quietly cursing my name under his breath.

I wipe my chin and stare blank faced at Blondie for a solid minute. "Are you going into shock or something?" Caroline asks, mildly concerned.

"It's a fight," I rationalize. "It's a rough patch or a phase. They've broken up before. I give it a week," I predict, trying desperately to convince myself. Caroline's face softens, and she is perilously close to bonding with me. I'm getting scared now. What if she wants a hug? I shudder at the thought.

"You may not believe this right now, but their break up was real. Her loving you is real," Caroline vows sincerely. I _want_ to believe it, more than anything, but I can't let myself hope, not again.

"How could you possibly know what Elena really feels?" I ask curiously. Unless Blondie has some latent telepathic abilities, I'm a little skeptical of her supposed insight.

"I know because Elena told me she loved you on the same stool that you're sitting on now. She said that if she knew that you were going to leave town that she would've chosen you instead."

Once again, I lose control of my bodily functions, and my refill lands unfortunately on the unluckiest , and now wettest, bartender alive. "Seriously," Donnie yells intensely. "Is drinking alcohol really that hard? Stupid teenagers manage to do it successfully in their parent's basement all the time. It's a three step process. You pick up the glass, you pour the alcohol into your mouth, and really important step, you _swallow_ the alcohol. Three times in one week I've been spit on with this stuff. I've reached my limit. I quit," Donnie announces as removes his apron and walks out.

"Well that was a little melodramatic," I comment surprised at Donnie's weird sensitivity to being spit on.

"Maybe he just had his fill of arrogant asses for one lifetime," Caroline offers mockingly. I roll my eyes at her all too obvious insult.

"See that's the part that I don't get Blondie. You hate me. I'm stunned that you didn't throw some sort of elaborate celebration when you found out that I was leaving, but here you are trying to keep me here, why?"

"Oh trust me, you're still not making my Christmas list," Caroline freely admits. "And I honestly don't know why Elena is so consumed by you . . . but she is and nothing I do will ever change that. I saw it in her eyes the night that we went out drinking, and I see it in yours right now. That's why I kept her looped on the liquor right until I handed her over to you. I wanted her to be half as honest with you as she was with me. If you're too much of a coward to take a chance on her, fine, I can't stop you. But if you think that what she feels isn't real, then you're a lot dumber than you look," Caroline states, as she finishes her drink.

"If I didn't know any better I'd think that you were actually on my side," I poke fun at my non-friend.

"I admit nothing," Blondie deflects, but a small smile is spreading across her lips. She gets up to leave, but turns around for one last bit of commentary on my current life path. "Just talk to her," Caroline suggests, "because without her okay, Bonnie isn't lifting that spell. We're all behind Elena on this one."

I give a very reluctant, "fine," and have myself a little more fun. "Just a few tips for later, don't forget to double check the naughty/nice list twice, because Santa is a real stickler for procedure. Make sure Prancer and Vixen are not tied up next to each other. They're both still bitter about their love triangle with Dancer in 95'. It created a terrible rift, and they used to be so close. You almost might want to find whatever child sized elf usually wears that costume and give it back. I don't think it was meant for someone over 4 feet." This earns me a swift kick in the shins, and before Caroline finds the nearest pointy wooden object, I hold my hand up in forfeit. "No, no, but in all seriousness, do give Santa my best. He still owes me 20 bucks from poker last December," I declare with a straight face.

Caroline's eyes grow wide with excitement and innocent wonder. "Santa's real?" Blondie asks in her best five year old voice.

"Of course," I lie expertly. "Vampires and werewolves are real. Didn't you think Santa was too?"

Caroline claps her hands together and scampers off, I assume to start writing her Christmas letter to the North Pole. After one more drink, that I have to pour myself, because Donnie was the only bartender on duty, I drag myself off the stool and speed home. At least I should have some peace and quiet before I contemplate facing Elena again, because if what Caroline said was true, then I've been a real dick. I might not believe that Elena loves me, but she certainly believes it. This is real for her, and I basically called her a liar. Once I see her, I'll have to give one of those apology things, and usually my rule is that I don't apologize unless I've murdered or attempted to murder someone. But I never did care for rules anyway, not even my own.

Just as I'm about to take a relaxing shower to ease the stress out of my muscles, my ears pick up footsteps from behind my door. I go into defensive mode, as I yank the door open only to find a startled Elena standing patiently in my doorway, holding what appears to be a present. She hasn't been here ten seconds, and I already want to forget all my well-reasoned arguments for why this is a bad idea. One thing is for certain, I don't stand a chance.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	14. Chapter 14

**Wow, I cannot believe that this chapter is finally done. This is far and above the most that I have ever written for a story. I was in a weird mood last night when I wrote the majority of this, so if it sounds kind of **_**different**_**, that's why. I'm hoping it's a good different. This story was full of so much angst that I wanted to inject a little more levity into it. I hope you guys like the change in tone. **

**I wanted to give a big thank you to all of the people who reviewed last chapter. I know it's hard to review a chapter without Delena scenes, so I'm extra grateful to the people who left me their thoughts. **

**I also want to thank my friend, sounding board, and amazing writer Cher Sue for letting me use parts of her life to create this chapter. And if you don't like the change in my tone with this chapter, blame her, it's all her fault. Her humor is contagious. Also if you liked the length of this chapter, you should blame her for that too, because that is also all her fault. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy.**

All she does is stand there, literally still as a statue, holding her position. Elena Gilbert has the balls to confront a caged vampire who basically told her to shove it two hours ago. But once she has a chance to speak her mind, she becomes a damn mime, without all those helpful hand gestures. Talk about your contradictions. Some holding pattern has frozen Elena in her tracks as she waits patiently for me to do _something_. I can't figure out what she expects to happen, but a minute passes and she keeps on waiting. Waiting on me to speak, to yell, or to supply whatever answers she's clearly searching for. Either way, if I want to leave this room before my 200th birthday, it's clear that I need to make the first move in this conversation.

I run through the possible scenarios in my head as Elena stands patiently in the doorway gently grasping the mystery package in her hands. In some versions I evade, in some I yell, and in some I actually apologize. Although my personal favorite is where I throw her onto the bed and ravish her body until one of us collapses from exhaustion or we go mad from blood deprivation, whichever affliction occurs first.

But once I start thinking with my brain instead of the less intelligent part of my anatomy, I follow my thoughts to their natural conclusion. And once I do, I realize that the end result is always the same. She leaves in every single one of them. Either she runs because I push or her away, or because she realizes that I'm not her knight in shining armor, and I never will be. So I put on a mask, a shield, to protect us both from the inevitable wreckage of when this goes south, because it will. It's only a matter of time. Once Elena sees that I don't hate her anymore, maybe that'll be enough. Maybe in time, she'll realize that it's better for us both to just cut our losses and run as far away from the dreaded 'us' conversation as possible. Then again, when has Elena ever listened to anything I've said?

My gut reaction is to start with evasion. It's my standard go to position, and with my witty charm it usually works to at least stall whatever emotional showdown that Elena has planned. So I flash my signature smirk, and try to throw Elena off balance with some not so innocent ribbing.

"While I have always had this fantasy of a hot female prison guard cuffing me to the bed," I joke playfully, "I really don't need supervision to make sure I don't split town. Judgey's spell packed quite a punch. I flew about three feet in the air and landed on my ass after running into her little force field."

Elena's eyes drift downward in shame at the mention of her morally ambiguous choice to trap me here. "I'm sorry that it went that far, but I didn't think you would take my calls, and I was worried I'd never see you again if you left," she explains regretfully.

"What's a little forced imprisonment between friends," I dismiss casually. Elena smiles and rolls her eyes at my attempt at humor. She's not even trying to hide it.

"At least I let you wander the entire town," she reminds me, in greatly elevated spirits, relieved that I don't appear angry anymore. "As I recall when you had Bonnie do the same spell on me, I wasn't even allowed to go outside."

This is nice, fun even. My evasion is working brilliantly. Joking and mockery was always what we were best at. It's only when things got real that the situation becomes more complicated. I'm enjoying it too much to let our back and forth end so soon, because I know what happens when the laughter stops, and I'm not ready for that just yet.

"What can I say? You're obviously a much more humane warden than I am," I explain smugly, taking far too much pride in my forced imprisonment plan that had now come back to bite me in the ass. I honestly don't know how I didn't think of it sooner. Locking Elena in her own house solved so many problems. My only mistake was letting her leave. Note to self: Improve follow through in plans. Second note to self: Don't let Elena out of house without adult supervision. Historically speaking, bad mojo tends to follow Elena whenever she's in charge of the planning phases of anything.

As I deliberate on more effective methods of keeping Elena safe from herself, she's made herself right at home in my room. She walks carefully past me and places the mystery gift on the bed, and then find a spot there herself. Flashing red warning lights are going off in my head. She's not mocking me anymore, and she's lost her laughing smile. Instead it's replaced with a softer smile that she uses on special occasions. I like to call it the sympathy smile. Usually she breaks it out when she's about to hug me or give some speech about caring about me. I don't act fast enough to come up with an adequate diversion, and she starts the 'real' portion of our conversation. My evasion skills must be lacking. Third note to self: improve diversion tactics.

"You've certainly done a 180 since the last time I saw you," Elena notices gratefully. "What happened to go to Hell?"

"I had an enlightening conversation with a slutty elf," I answer seriously as Elena's face scrunches up in confusion.

"What?"

"Caroline," I elaborate with the only explanation needed. Who else would be dressed up as a slutty elf? Silence fills the room, and I resolve to get this 'talk' over with, because apparently it's inevitable. "I'm sorry about Stefan," I offer sincerely. She looked for him for months. They fought through more than any relationship should have to bear, and now she thinks it's over. Only someone with an intimate knowledge of heartbreak can understand how much that must hurt. Elena flashes a grateful smile as she stares at the tips of her shoes.

"Are you really?" She asks unexpectedly, searching for answers on my face.

"I'm sorry that you're unhappy," I answer quasi-honestly. It's not what she was really asking, but it's enough for her to drop the issue.

"Is that all that Caroline told you?" Elena's voice rises as it gains a certain hope to it as I lose myself in her deep brown eyes. It's only for a moment and then I snap out of it, and put the mask back on. Indifference and levity is the only way to escape from this room unscathed, and I'm determined to cling to them.

"She might have mentioned something about you drunkenly confessing your undying love for me, you know in passing," I awkwardly admit. Once I do Elena's entire face lights up. I don't know if I've ever seen her so happy. It's like telling a small child that Christmas came early and Santa was planning on giving them double presents this year.

"So you believe me?" Elena asks in disbelief and joyful hope. "You believe that I love you?" I carefully choose my words as I keep a necessary distance from Elena's position on the bed. Getting too close will only make this harder.

"I believe that you believe it, yes," I answer cautiously, not wanting to give too much away. The smile disappears, and her face noticeably drops down at my reply. She starts fidgeting, twirling her thumbs around in circles.

"That's not exactly the same thing though is it?" Elena questions with a bittersweet smile joining her tragically broken spirit.

"No, it's not," I admit simply, more disappointed than I care to admit. "But I need you to know that I am sorry for blowing up at you earlier. I was a dick when I yelled at you like that. It's been a bad month, bad year, bad century, and my frustrations all exploded at once." Elena doesn't even pause before responding.

"Forget it," she replies instantly. "Lord knows I probably owe you half a dozen apologies by now, and it's not like I didn't have it coming."

I have no idea what possesses me to do this, but looking at Elena's slumped shoulders and defeated expression, I can't help but want to fix it, make it better in some small way.

"Not that it's your business," I remind her with a slightly hard edge to my voice, "but nothing happened between me and that April girl. She was drunk and I was giving her a ride home. She might have gotten a little too touchy feely when the alcohol went to her head, but that's as far as it was going to go."

Elena perks right up at my unnecessary explanation. She's not my girlfriend, but somehow I felt the need to justify my actions, like being with April in that way was something to be ashamed of. That feeling was sparking a slight return of my anger. Elena's next question only adds gasoline to the fire.

"So you didn't want her?" Elena asks optimistically, holding her breath until I answer.

"No," I confess with frustration building in my voice, "but even if I had, even if I intended to take her home, marry her, and make her my love slave for all eternity, you still have no right to dictate to me who I can and can't sleep with, especially since I don't think there is a woman alive that you'd approve of me having sex with. I think you've vetoed all women, so unless I make a rather drastic lifestyle change and start sleeping with men, I may never get laid again if you have it your way," I vent in a brief puff of anger. The aggravation at Elena's actions evaporates instantly with three unexpected words.

"There's always me," Elena offers softly. Blatant insecurity laces her every word as if she isn't the sun, moon, and stars to every man in this town. "It's a short list, and I'm not sure if you'd want me after all that I've put you through, but I give you permission to sleep with me."

I sigh tiredly to myself as I relent and sit down next to her on the bed. "Elena, I'm not saying that one night with you wouldn't be the highlight of the year, of my whole damn life, but I can't do it, because I'd always want more." I've already revealed far more to her than is wise. I might as well become a damn open book at this point.

"I told you I love you," Elena points out in aggravation. "I broke up with Stefan. I want _more_ too," she swears emphatically.

"For how long?" I ask the million dollar question. "You and Stefan have broken up before. He threatened to drive you off a bridge and you still went back to him," I jog her memory in a more callous manner than is necessary.

"It's different this time," she promises defiantly. "You weren't there. I let him go."

"Right," I reply sarcastically, "sort of like how you let Stefan go after homecoming and then a month later were begging him to feel again. Or maybe it's like when you promised that you were letting me go, and then later that night asked me to cuddle. This isn't meant as a judgment, but you kind of suck at letting people go. If there was grade that I could assign you for your closure skills, you'd get like an F. Worse than that, you'd get a double F. I would literally have to make up new letters to describe how bad you are at it."

"You don't get it," Elena screams, defensive and angry.

"Then explain it to me," I push harder, trying desperately to understand.

"I was _miserable_ with Stefan," Elena confesses with teary eyes. "I was walking on egg shells, trying not to rock the boat, and I was genuinely unhappy. All Stefan saw when he looked at me was the girl that he used to know, but when you looked at me, all you ever saw was me."

Somehow this girl can make me go from furiously angry, to belligerent, to soft cuddly puppy in about sixty seconds flat. She has super powers, I'm sure of it, and they have nothing to do with being a vampire. So with an uneasy acceptance, I drop the mask, just long enough to help her understand.

"I'm not saying that I think you're lying about caring about me," I compromise graciously. "I'm not even saying that you don't love me, but I just can't believe that you're _in_ love with me."

"Why?" Elena asks simply with her best empathetic voice. "Everyone else in this town, your brother, my friends, my brother, they all believe that I'm in love with you. Why can't you?"

"Now you're the one who doesn't get it," I charge belligerently.

"Well to quote you, explain it to me," she fires back.

"_Now_," I emphasize strongly, "you love me _now_? After a year and a half of knowing me, after a year and a half of rejecting me and choosing Stefan, how could I possibly believe that your feelings have miraculously changed and you love me now? So forgive me if I see this as nothing more than a passing phase."

"Damon . . ."

"No," I stop her abruptly. "It's okay. I'm not mad. I don't blame you, but whatever you're feeling it's not love. When you've worked through this rough patch with Stefan, or once you've adjusted to your vampire emotions, you'll realize that this was lust, friendship, devotion, whatever you want to call it. . ."

"I like to call it being in love with you," she cuts in harshly.

"Elena . . ."

"No," Elena bellows, standing her ground with a fierce determination. "You had your talking turn. You said a bunch of bullshit, and now it's my turn. You've lost your speaking privileges by talking crazy. I LOVE you. I'm IN LOVE with you. I don't care how many times I have to say it for it to penetrate your abnormally thick skull, but I'll keep saying it till you believe me and every day after that. You think this is about lust? Do you really think that I would end a relationship with a man that _you_ claim I'm still in love with if all I wanted you for was your body."

She's nothing if not persuasive, but I attempt to redirect her attention to the important issues. "Being a new vampire can be a confusing time," I explain rationally. "The lines of what you feel can blur together. Lust can easily be confused for love."

Her eyes are now burning with fire, threatening to consume the entire room. "I did not reinstate your speaking privileges," Elena scolds, "because you're still talking crazy." She takes a beat before continuing in her little rant. "I'll admit that I want to sleep with you. I've dreamed of doing an innumerable list of dirty things to you practically from the moment that I met you, but that's not why I'm fighting for you."

What the fuck, now she has me thinking about her doing dirty things to me. What was I doing again? Right, I was trying to convince her that that is a bad idea . . . for some reason I'm sure I'll remember later.

"It isn't?" I reply, trying to act like her rant didn't fill my mind with dirty images of my own. "And here I thought it was because I was irresistible," I joke dismissively.

"You are," Elena states brazenly, and more honest than I've ever seen her, "but not because you're ridiculously hot, or because your abs look like they were sculpted from marble."

And my ego grew three sizes that day, I think to myself as Elena extols the virtues of my physical appearance. "You're irresistible because of who you are not what you look like," she explains. Her last comment tugs sharply on my heart, right up until she causes me to nearly fall over laughing. "It certainly doesn't hurt that you look like sex on a stick, but I want your heart more than I want your . . . um"

"My . . . um, what?" I tease her mercilessly. Elena's face blushes in three distinct shades of red, and I take a mental picture, so I can enjoy every single one of them at a later date.

"Your penis," she whispers at last. "There I said it. Happy now? I want your heart more than I want your penis," her voice reaches a pitch that only dogs can hear, and I fail miserably at containing my laughter.

"I didn't even know that you used dirty words," I state, feigning shock. "Frankly I'm scandalized Miss Gilbert." Now she's laughing as well, either at herself or at me. I'm not sure either of us cares.

"Did I offend your delicate sensibilities?" Elena mocks effortlessly. "I'm so sorry. I promise in the future that my dirty talk will be much more dignified."

With one word, reality sneaks right past us and lets out a mighty roar. Future, at the moment, Elena and I have very different concepts about what our futures will bring. Elena is convinced that we're destined to be together, and I'm convinced that I need to get the Hell out of dodge. We're at what most people could call an impasse. It's hard to mistake the obvious shift in the air, and Elena feels it too. Which is why she doesn't look surprised when I put a damper on our previously happy conversation.

"There isn't going to be a next time," I break it to her gently, "because I'm leaving, once you get witchy to lift this spell." Elena's face sets hard, and her heels dig in so deep, I'm surprised she hasn't damaged my floor by now.

"Bonnie isn't lifting any spell just so you can run away," Elena shouts rebelliously.

"I'm not running away," I counter, pitifully.

"That's exactly what you're doing," Elena claims assuredly. "You're scared. You don't want to get hurt again, so you're protecting yourself, from me, from love, and from anything that could hurt you." Her eyes, which hold such protectiveness, determination, and life itself, cut through me like a knife. Predictably, I dig right back in, matching her charge for charge.

"It's called self-preservation honey," I admit darkly. I might as well call it what it is. It's not like I'm any good at lying to her. Elena's face can change just as quickly as my mood. I must have super powers too, because she softens at my confession. She takes my hand, and I let her, too exhausted to fight it anymore. Elena uses her other to caress my cheek with the backside of her knuckles. It is such a tender gesture, that I struggle not to melt into it and stay strong.

"For as long as I've known you, you've always seemed fearless," Elena remarks proudly. "You've risked your life more times than I can count, so why won't you take a chance on me?" Her vulnerability shines through in that moment. She's already heard one Salvatore refuse to take that chance when it mattered, and I can't bring myself to push her further away, not yet, not like this.

"If I thought there was a chance," I admit with difficult, "even a one percent chance that you really loved me that you really wanted me over everyone else, I'd take that risk for you, but I don't. I can't. So I'm asking you Elena, if you really care about me, please just let me go," I plead in a desperate attempt to break through her stubbornness. It's impossible not to see the first tears fall down her beautiful face, and on instinct, I wipe them from her cheek as she stares back at me, her brown eyes meeting my blue ones, trapping them both in a trance.

"Don't ask me that, please?" She begs right back.

"You can't keep me captive here forever," I remind her sadly.

"I don't want to," she claims.

"What do you want?" I ask, trying to find some sort of win-win scenario in this fucked up situation.

"You," she answers plainly. "All I want is you." I look away, trying to hide from her probing eyes.

"Anything a little simpler?" I question wishfully. A spark ignites behind Elena's eyes at my suggestion, an idea that is just starting to take shape.

"I want a chance to prove to you that I love you," Elena proposes diplomatically. Great we're still stuck on that love thing. Isn't she over that yet? I'd expected this phase to last maybe a few hours, possibly the end of the day tops. She seems unusually fixated.

"How exactly do you plan to do that," I question skeptically, "sign from God?"

"Give me a week," she replies, "one week to prove to you how I feel. If after that you still think that I'm lying or mistaken, I'll get Bonnie to lift the spell and you'll be free to go. No one will stop you."

She's giving me an out. A beautiful shot at freedom, and all I have to do is wait her out for a week, but I can't help feeling like there's a catch attached to this deal.

"And if by some miracle you convince me that your feelings are real, what then?" I inquire suspiciously.

"If at the end of the week you believe me, then no more running, for either of us. After that, it's you and me, forever," Elena declares confidently.

"You can't imagine the true length of eternity," I caution.

"Maybe not," she accepts quickly. "I'm 18 years old, and I'm barely to the point where I understand what immortality truly means, but I think there's a more important issue at the moment than my concept of forever."

"What's that?"

Elena's confident exterior fades into my memory as she looks at me in a state of fear, eyeing me as if any second I will crush her beneath my feet.

"If you could," Elena begins, "if you believed that I loved you, would you want eternity with me? Could you promise to love me forever?"

"Yes," I respond without a thought. Elena releases a sigh of relief, and bites her lip to guard against the smile threatening to overtake her mouth.

"So could I," she agrees elatedly. "Hopefully by the end of this week, you'll realize that I love you just as much as you love me, even if I have a sucky way of showing it sometimes."

"I can't say as if I'll be holding my breath," I confess, "but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't want you to prove me wrong."

"So we have a deal?" Elena asks as she offers me her hand so we can shake on it.

"Against my better judgment, yes," I give in without further argument, "you have a week."

"Good," Elena exclaims with a renewed sense of happiness, "so now that you've stopped being a stubborn pain in the ass, you can open your present."

In the midst of all the talk about feelings and supposed love, I'd forgotten all about the large wrapped box that Elena had walked in with. I am awfully curious to see what's inside. Presents aren't something that I've had since I was still human. Stefan and I were never really on good enough terms to exchange gifts for birthdays, and no one else would've bothered.

"Is this a reward system?" I joke lightly. "Are you trying to condition me like you would a dog?"

"No," Elena replies with an eager grin on her face.

"I realize I never told you my birthday, but you do know it's not Halloween?"

"This isn't a birthday present," Elena answers quickly. "It's an I'm sorry for acting kind of dickish present." She's clearly been spending way too much time around me if she's using the familiar word that I typically use to describe myself.

"So I get presents now when you screw up?"

"Yes," Elena agrees, "but it depends on how bad. I spent several weeks lying to you about how I felt, so I thought a present was appropriate," she elaborates as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

"So if you drink the last blood bag in the house without replacing it, then I don't get a present?" I clarify in my usual smart ass manner. All Elena does is smirk right back at me and moves on.

"No," she clarifies, "that is not a present worthy screw up, although it might be worthy of I'm sorry sex."

At this point, I'm very grateful that I wasn't drinking or eating anything when she told me that, or I might have choked on my own tongue.

"So if I agree to date you, and you screw up, you'll have sex with me as an apology?" I repeat in a state of disbelief. Elena isn't fazed at all by this. Who is this girl, and what has she done with Ms. Repression?

"Because I'd be your girlfriend, I'd have sex with you for all sorts of reasons," Elena informs me casually, "but I might do kinkier stuff if I was in trouble."

Apparently I can never eat or drink in her presence again if she's going to say stuff like _that_. Images flash through me head in brilliant color. Not only was Elena talking about having sex with me, but she was open to kinky sex. Cyborg, replicant, personality transplant, I think as I run through the only possible explanations for Elena's sudden transformation. She always told me she was more fun before her parents died, but I never expected _this._ I like this. I could get on board with this I think before mentally slapping myself upside the head.

"You're not making this easy," I confess.

"Because now you're thinking about having sex with me?" Elena states as she hits the nail on the head.

"Pretty much," I admit as I try to wipe those thoughts from my mind.

"I'm going to make it even harder when you see your present," she promises excitedly.

I rip open the wrapping paper like a six year old on his birthday, and I pull the mystery present out of the tissue paper.

"It's uh . . . what is it?" I ask, confused, as I stare dumbly at my first present in over a century.

"Isn't it obvious?" Elena asks, slightly disappointed.

"There is nothing obvious about this present," I state bluntly. I regret it once I see Elena flinch at my comment.

"It's a stuffed hippo," she finally answers as if that explains everything. Sure enough, it is a stuffed hippo. It is a dull shade of yellow, and Elena even went so far as to clothe the soft animal. Shocked doesn't even begin to cover my confusion at the most unique present I've ever gotten.

"That's what I thought . . . Not to sound ungrateful, but why did you buy me a stuffed hippo?"

"Because the stock boy said they were all out of stuffed bears," Elena replies matter of factly.

"Ahh, now it's much clearer," I fake understanding, not wanting to hurt her feelings at this bizarre gift.

"I wanted to buy you those bears that say I love you beary much, but apparently they only sell those during Valentine's Day."

"So instead you went with hippo?"

"Yes," she replies proudly.

"It was certainly a bold choice," I concede. "I'll give you that."

"Don't you like it?" Elena asks me in a delicate, vulnerable tone. I stare down at the thing, and I'm convinced that I hate it. I'm a man for God sakes. You don't buy men teddy bears or stuffed hippos, but then I catch a glimpse at the hippo's eyes, and they hold the same warmth and doe eyed hazel tint that Elena's do. I can't help but wonder if that's why she picked it. I'm ashamed to say that I love it. I've fallen in love with a stuffed hippo. I think I can officially cease calling myself a man. After my long silence, Elena grows increasingly worried that I hate her gift, so quickly correct her.

"Oh, no, I do," I respond insistently. "I love it, but remind me again, other than the stuffed bear shortage, why did you buy me a stuffed hippo?" Elena's face breaks out in a nostalgic glow as she recounts the memory to me.

"Don't you remember this summer when I was staying at the boardinghouse all the time and I was missing Mr. Cuddles, because my mom gave him to me, and I had slept with him since I was little? You bought me another teddy bear to keep over here as a substitute. I named her Mrs. Cuddles, because she has a tiny pink bow in her hair."

I can't help but smile at Elena's retelling of events. She makes it sound like some monumental moment in our friendship. All I did was buy her a damn bear. I could see that she was lonely without it, and I thought it was the one thing that I could actually fix for her. I couldn't bring Stefan back, I couldn't raise the dead, but I could make sure she had something to hold onto at night to chase away the nightmares.

"I never knew it meant so much to you."

"It might sound stupid and childish," Elena confesses, "but when I looked at that tiny little bear with the coral colored bow on her ear, I felt less alone. I felt loved, and I wanted you to feel that too. So when you look at this hippo, you'll know that I love you?"

I feel the smallest crack form on my outer walls. She bought me a stuffed hippo to prove that she loves me. I have to stop this. I can't give in, because nothing's changed, and this still ends badly, so I give my old friend deflection a try.

"This might count as the most insane present I've ever gotten," I tease relentlessly.

"Well if you don't want him, I can take him back," Elena offers playfully as she makes a move to take her back.

"NO," I respond far too quickly to hold onto any sense of dignity, "you don't have to do that. I'll take her. I haven't gotten a present in a while, so thank you."

"You better get used to it," Elena informs me, "because I make A LOT of mistakes. Who knows how many apology presents I'll have to buy."

"So I could have an entire zoo of animals by years end?" I joke around some more.

"Absolutely," she agrees, "unless of course you prefer chocolates or arrangements of flowers."

After staring at her for a second I reply, "You do understand that I'm a man right?"

"Well you try and think of a manly apology gift," Elena argues a fair point. "It doesn't exist. All the classics are associated with women. I don't see why. Stuffed animals, chocolates, and flowers should be unisex presents." Clearly she's given the topic an absurd amount of thought.

"Be that as it may, for any future apology gifts, I'd stick with chocolate and flowers," I humbly request. "There is a quota of how many stuffed animals a grown man can have in his bedroom and still be called a man. Technically its zero, but I think the whole vampire thing gives me some extra leeway. I can just threaten/compel anyone who tries to take away my man card."

"Good," Elena breathes a phony sigh of relief, "I'd hate to think that my present diminishes your masculinity."

"On the contrary, only a secure man confident in his manhood could own a stuffed hippo, especially one with pink striped pajama bottoms," I mock in good fun.

"Well I had to dress her," Elena replies defensively. "You didn't want her to be like one of those slut hippos that you hear about on the news."

"No, we wouldn't want that," I respond in between barely contained laughter.

"So what are you going to name her?" I freeze at the question.

"First I have to own a stuffed animal, and now I have to name her?"

"Yes," Elena declares, offended that I would even consider leaving the hippo without a name. "It's practically a rule. All animals deserve a name, even if they're of the stuffed variety," Elena claims confidently.

"Hippo, I hereby name her Hippo," I state simply, hoping Elena is now satisfied.

"That's not a name," Elena argues. "You're just calling her what she is. It doesn't count."

"Fine," I sigh in defeat, "I'll call her Po for short. Happy now?"

Elena's face lights up again in childlike wonder. She never ceases to amaze me. In the course of a half hour conversation, she went from humble and contrite, to defiant and yelling, to naughty vixen, and circling right back to innocent 4 year old. And people say I'm complicated.

"Ecstatic," she answers gleefully. There is a literal spring in her step. I'm surprised she's not skipping as exits out my door. At the last second, she turns back around and states plainly, "just in case you forget, I love you." She smiles real big and leaves. I assume she is off to plan her next move in convincing me of that fact. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to be careful, but I look down at the hippo sitting in my lap with _her_ eyes, and I don't know how I'll last the week.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	15. Chapter 15

**Okay so this chapter might seem like a darker way to go after my last really light hearted one, but it feels so long since I've brought the angst. I miss it. I like it. It makes me happy. I did add some humor, so it isn't all doom and gloom. I'm hoping at least some of you like my stories for the angsty bits. *Crossing my fingers* **

**Okay, moving on, I cannot express my joy at the reaction to the last chapter. I definitely wanted to thank the guest reviewers who I can't respond to personally. It was amazing and I am so grateful, because I was so nervous about it. Now I know that a little bit of playful fun can be a good thing. **

**Once again, I need to thank Cher Sue for her invaluable help with this chapter. Some of these ideas were all her, and I think this chapter is the better for it, so I order you to go read her stories as a thank you. There must be some of you that I still need to wear down. I am nothing if not persistent.**

**Anyways, I hope you guys all enjoy. **

I've never been one for sage wisdom or philosophical ponderings. When you live your life in crisis mode, it doesn't leave much time for thinking about the bigger picture. All you can do is extinguish each fire as it comes, and worry later about life's deeper meaning. But after 18 years, I've come to exactly one startling revelation. Humans, vampires, werewolves and witches all share one tragic flaw. Regardless of our past or our current circumstances, what unites us is how truly screwed up we all are. I mean psychologically damaged in a remarkably spectacular fashion.

What other reason could explain our self-destructive behavior these past few weeks? Exhibit A: I stayed in a relationship that I knew was doomed because I was trying to prove to myself and my dead parents that I was still a good person. Exhibit B: Stefan saw that I wasn't happy and he ignored it, because he was trying to prove to himself that he wasn't a monster. And worst of all, exhibit C: Damon refuses to believe that I'm in love with him, because no one else ever was. All things considered, the three of us could each benefit from an overpriced shrink with three degrees and a comfy couch.

So after 'the talk' with Damon earlier, I decided to give him some space for a few hours. It was day one after all, and I still had six more to convince him that he was my one and only. I strategized, called Bonnie and Caroline, and we discussed Operation Dumbass, as Caroline so eloquently dubbed it. Caroline's suggestions weren't entirely helpful, but they were successful in lightening the mood, and you had to give the girl points for flair. Her ideas included, but were not limited to, dressing me in lingerie and walking into Damon's room, stripping off all my clothes and walking into Damon's room, and handcuffing Damon to the bed while I . . . well you get the idea. She even suggested I pull a Varsity Blues and wear a whipped cream bikini and absolutely nothing else. Strangely enough all of Caroline's ideas ended with me being naked, and Bonnie sounding incredibly traumatized at the mental image of Damon and I having sex. I might've added a few naughty suggestions of my own just to get a rise out of my prudish friend. That is until Bonnie hung up on me.

Once I hear the dial tone, I refocus my energies on listening in to what Damon is up to in his room. He hasn't left it in hours, and I don't know if he is in the mood to see me again so soon. Now as a general rule, I see eavesdropping as morally wrong, and certainly an abuse of my new vampire powers, but once I hear what Damon is doing, I just can't resist. He is_ talking_ to Po. Badass vampire, Damon Salvatore is unloading his problems onto a stuffed hippo, and I am struggling not to burst out laughing with each word.

"Po, be grateful that you're a hippo," Damon states in all seriousness, "and you know not alive, because that means you are spared the never-ending nightmare that is teenage vampires, specifically teenage _girl_ vampires. No offense to your gender, but the female species doesn't exactly make it easy on a guy," Damon explains with a smidge of comedic aggravation in his voice. "I mean they're confusing as Hell. One second they're not talking to you and the next they want to cuddle or worse talk about their supposed feelings. Then before you know it, they're putting dirty thoughts in your head like a damn siren luring you to your death."

For a moment, I think that Damon's finished his rather hilarious rant at the added frustration I've brought to his life, but instead Damon pauses, and his voice takes on a softer quality. He whispers the next part to Po, and from this distance I strain to hear it.

"But at the end of the day," Damon states with a serene calm in his voice, "I love her, in spite of everything, Hell maybe because of everything. She's just so . . . _her_, and despite my best efforts I can't walk away. And to top it off, I'm telling all of this to a stuffed hippo. So you can understand why this greatly concerns me." Silence fills the house and all I can hear is Damon sighing to himself, so I choose this moment to race up to his room. Who knows, maybe I can cheer him up, since apparently I'm the cause of his ennui.

The sight before me when I arrive in Damon's room cannot be more perfect. Damon is clutching Po to his chest, practically cuddling the stuffed hippo. Once he catches sight of me, he chucks Po across the room, hoping that I didn't see his public display of affection on the stuffed animal. Unfortunately, the laughter that I had so carefully contained downstairs comes bursting forth at this most inappropriate time. Damon's death glare tells me that he is not amused, but I can't resist giving him a hard time. It's like our thing.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," I attempt to say with a straight face. "Did the two of you want some privacy? I could leave," I offer jokingly.

"Just to be clear," Damon declares sternly, "I was NOT hugging the hippo."

"Do you prefer the term cuddling, because I'm flexible," I kid gleefully. Damon glares back in mock annoyance with a tiny bit of admiration thrown in for good measure.

"That was almost funny," Damon compliments reluctantly. "When did you become so witty? The girl I remember couldn't take a joke to save her life, let alone make one." I laugh a little at the backhanded praise.

"Humor came in with the fangs," I clarify, "along with the sarcastic attitude. It's sort of a package deal."

"I guess I'll just have to sharpen my witty retorts if I want to keep up," Damon replies in good spirits.

Instead of continuing our back and forth, I gingerly pick up Po from the floor, lay her on the bed right next to Damon, and place a light kiss on her plushy forehead. Damon gazes back at me in puzzlement. "Why are you kissing my hippo? I haven't had the time to ask, but I don't think she's down with any girl on girl action," Damon quips smoothly.

"The kiss was an apology, since it was my sudden entrance that caused you to launch her across the room," I explain quasi-jokingly.

"Well you certainly are affectionate today," Damon observes cautiously. "I shudder to think what you'd do with that hippo if she'd popped a stitch during her impromptu flight across my room."

I smile innocently, letting Damon think that he's getting a rise out of me, and without warning I climb into the bed next to him and straddle Damon across his waist. "Care to test how affectionate I can be," I propose teasingly. My fingertips grazing a trail down his button up shirt as I rest my hands on his belt line. Damon's reaction is priceless. He can dish it out just fine, but he's not used to taking it. Damon's floored by my sudden forwardness, and I'm taking far too much joy in the nervousness that I'm eliciting from the typically cocky, confident vampire.

"Okay," Damon exclaims as he flips me over so I am lying underneath him. "You have clearly lost your mind, lost a screw, or maybe should be on some sort of medication, because I've never seen you like this. What the Hell has gotten into you?" Damon asks genuinely concerned.

"Over a year I put up with your flirty little comments," I charge in a huff. "I stood idly by while you did that sexy eye thing, and I couldn't do anything about it. I had a boyfriend, and you were off limits. Suffice it to say your endless flirting was _frustrating_ to say the least," I admit shyly. Damon smiles at the double meaning behind the word and forgets his doubts about my sanity.

"So what this is your revenge, death by flirting?" Damon questions mockingly.

"Of course not," I respond innocently, as I give his butt a good hard squeeze. "There are far too many things I want to do before we die."

"If you say I'm one of them, then I'm out of here," Damon raggedly declares, as his breathing increases rapidly. "I know what you're doing and it's not going to work. No matter how well you flirt, or how often you try and seduce me, I'm not giving in," Damon swears. "And you're not exactly helping your case if you want me to believe that this isn't just about you wanting to jump my bones before you die."

I roll my eyes at his suggestion. "Trust me I have no plans to sleep with you this week," I swear sincerely. Damon's face drops just a bit at my reply. You'd almost think he was disappointed.

"You're not?" Damon asks skeptically and definitely upset with this turn of events.

"No," I respond firmly. "I mean kissing is definitely allowed, probably making out as well, some light fondling, but that's it. I draw the line at under the clothes stuff. Merely sleeping with you isn't going to prove anything. So until you believe me, no sex for you," I inform him. "So will you just relax and have some fun, because a serious face on you just looks wrong."

"Relax huh, and how do you propose I do that?" Damon inquires intrigued.

"My preferred method of relaxation will have to wait, because someone woke up on the stubborn side of the bed this morning," I mock lightly.

"And you wonder why I think you're confusing lust for love," Damon states bluntly. I feel slapped back into reality, and I tense beneath him.

Livid, incensed, and infuriated are all three words to perfectly describe my mood at this moment. I toss Damon off the bed, and he crashes onto the floor. "You still think this just about lust?" I yell indignantly. Damon sweeps dust off his pants as he fires back.

"Well yes, to be perfectly honest. All that you've done since you walked in the door is tried to seduce me, so it's not exactly a leap," Damon accuses. I feel punched in the gut, beaten, but I pick myself right back up and continue fighting.

"And when you flirted with me non-stop for all that time, did you just want to get into my pants? Would you not have loved me if I had just slept with you the first night when you tried to kiss me?"

"Of course not," Damon argues. "You know how I feel."

"I do," I concede easily. "And I never once questioned that. I never questioned the sincerity of your feelings, so don't you dare question the sincerity of mine. I agreed not to have sex with you _because _I love you. Do you realize how difficult it is to want you so badly, but to hold myself back, because it's what's right?" I ask my questions in desperation, and Damon hangs his head, and runs his hand through his hair.

"Yeah," he confesses, "I kind of have some experience with that." We both sit in silence for a moment as we allow the tension to wash over us. Holding back from someone that you love isn't exactly new for either of us. When the awkwardness becomes too much, I try to cut the tension with a joke.

"It doesn't exactly help that I've been a damn nun and celibate for the last six months," I admit lightly.

There aren't many experiences in life akin to watching someone choke on their own tongue, so it's difficult to describe, but funny as Hell. Damon's eyes grow real big, and he sounds like he's developed a newfound stutter. "C . . . c . . . celibate," Damon finally manages to say aloud. "As in no sex at all," he states in complete and utter shock. "But six months ago was . . ."

"When Stefan left Mystic Falls," I finish for him. "I'm sure it's a difficult concept for a man whore such as yourself to grasp, but some of us have self-control," I respond sarcastically. Damon grasps for words helplessly trying to understand.

"Why?" Damon asks, perplexed, and bewildered. "You and Stefan were back together for weeks, so why didn't you?" He can't bring himself to repeat the words sleep together or have sex, probably because the very idea of me with Stefan gnaws on his insides, just like the sight of him with April gnawed at mine.

I sit up on his bed and rest my elbows on my knees. "It never felt . . . right with Stefan, not since we got back together. The last time it felt right with anyone . . . was you. When we were in Denver, that felt right. That felt real, and exhilarating and life-affirming. That's how it _should _feel to be with the person that you love. So that's why I didn't sleep with Stefan, because there wasn't a single moment with him where I felt more than I felt for you that night."

"I didn't think that Denver was real for you," Damon declares honestly with vulnerability reflecting in his eyes.

"It was," I answer simply and succinctly. "When Jeremy interrupted us, it was probably the only time that I've seriously considered fratricide as a form of retaliation," I kid effortlessly.

"You really didn't sleep with him?" Damon asks a second time.

"Why is that so hard for you to believe?" I question curiously, his lack of faith disturbing me more than I'm letting on.

"Honestly I thought you and Mr. Perfect would have consummated your happy reunion as quickly as possible," Damon replies cynically.

I stare down at my hands avoiding peering into the fractured pieces of his heart that I can glimpse just by looking in his eyes. "Will it always come back to that?" I question tiredly. "Will it always come back to him?"

"I'm afraid you can't erase the past Elena. You can't undo all those times that you chose Stefan over me," he admits difficulty as his inner pain takes hold.

"That was always your problem," I point out calmly. "You've been stuck in some messed up competition with Stefan since Katherine came between you two almost a century and a half ago, but that's never what _we_ were about. If we stand a chance in Hell of making it, you need to tell me what I can do so we can move past this. Because if we don't deal with this now, we'll be having this fight for the rest of eternity," I caution forebodingly. Damon accepts my logic, but opening his heart, even to me, is always done with great effort. He sits beside me, doesn't touch me, doesn't even look at me, but he does answer my question at last.

"I just need to know why," Damon declares. "Why choose me and not him?"

I place my hand delicately on his cheek and steer it towards my face until he can't help but look back at me.

"You're asking the wrong questions." I advise him gently.

"So what are the right ones?" Damon inquires expectantly. This might be the make it or break it moment of Damon's and I's relationship. If I screw this up, I may never be able to repair the damage, and he really will be gone for good. So I take a steadying breath, and begin.

"Whatever you might think," I start hesitantly, "I never once chose Stefan over you. I chose to stay with Stefan for reasons that had nothing to do with you. If you really want answers, don't ask me why I suddenly chose you over him. Ask me why I got back together with Stefan, and ask me why I finally left him, because those are the only two questions that really matter." Damon appears torn at first, unsure whether I'm merely trying to skirt the issue, but after a beat, he chooses to trust me, for a while at least.

"Fine," he accepts, "if those are the right questions then answer them."

"You of all people should understand," I state plainly. Damon's face seems perplexed by the mysteriousness of my latest reply.

"Why me?"

"Because you tried to run back to Katherine the same way I tried to run back to Stefan," I elaborate. Damon's face tenses at the mention of both of our exes, and his hand flies in the air in a stopping motion.

"Wait a minute," Damon orders. "That is not the same thing. I hated Katherine, and I still do."

"No you don't," I contradict forcefully. "You can't, because she was your first love, and no matter how it ended, first loves always keep a place in our hearts, even if that place becomes a scar. You pretended that you hated her, but deep down in a place you still refuse to look, you needed her to want you, to love you, to prove to yourself that you were good enough. And I needed the same thing from Stefan. He rejected me, traumatized me, and claimed that caring about me wasn't his burden anymore. So as pathetic as it sounds, I needed Stefan to love me for the same reason you needed Katherine to love you after all the manipulations, lies, and abandonment."

Damon might still be skeptical about my feelings for him, but it seems we've finally found some common ground. We both know the sting of a first love's betrayal all too well. Damon rests his arm across my shoulder, and rubs it to comfort me. I lean further against him, and just breathe him in, and accept this small moment of peace between us. When I lift my head up at last, Damon asks a question that is clearly still troubling him.

"So if that's true, then why end it at all? You got what you wanted," Damon claims certainly. I grasp ahold of Damon's hand and squeeze it tightly within my own, and then I lace his fingers with mine until we are holding hands. Damon seems surprised by the gesture, but his hand doesn't leave my grasp. I cling to it as I explain the last pieces of the puzzle.

"I got what I thought I wanted," I clarify, "and I in doing so nearly lost something far more precious. I almost lost you. You were the one thing that I needed more than the validation of Stefan's affections."

With our hands still perfectly intertwined, Damon asks, "So you broke up with Stefan because you were afraid of losing me?"

"That was a reason," I admit, "the biggest reason, but not the only one. "

"If that's a reason, then what's another?" Damon presses further, trying to dig so deep until he finds all the answers that he seeks, and I let him, because it's the only way that he'll ever feel secure in our relationship. I crave that more than anything, so I offer him all the answers that I've got left, and hope to myself that they're enough.

"From the moment Stefan left Mystic Falls I've been fighting to get back to one moment in time," I inform him hauntingly, "I was trying to reclaim the last moment when Stefan and I were happy. At first I remembered it so clearly. I clung to it like a lifeline, and it reminded me of what I was fighting for, but slowly, over weeks and months, it faded away. That moment that had once seemed so important, so special, couldn't even be counted as a memory any longer, because I'd discarded it, when I realized that I didn't need it anymore. What I could remember, what I still remember, are all the times that I was happy with_ you_. I remember what you asked of me the night we went to the Tennessee Mountains. I remember what I felt for you while Stefan was gone, so I broke up with him, because what I felt was too important to risk losing. I chose _you_ because I want a lifetime, a dozen lifetimes, worth of happy memories with you. I want all the love, passion, and adventure that you spoke about the night we met in the middle of the road, and I realized yesterday that the only person I could have that with was you."

Before I even have time to form another thought, Damon's lips find mine like super powered magnets. This kiss isn't sweet or gentle, but fierce, predatory, and needy. His powerful hands grip my sides and start pushing up my shirt till it is bunched near my chest. I am meeting his ferocity with equal fervor. I relish in this, bask in this, because _this_ feels right. This feels like where I belong. I place kisses alongside the jawline of his neck, and I hear Damon almost growl in response. Just as I'm about to rid us both of our respective shirts, I grab Damon's face with both hands and passionately kiss him one more time before pulling back a mere six inches.

Damon is confused and hurt by my interruption, but I caress his face lovingly to reassure him. "I love you so much," I promise whole heartedly. "I need you to say it. Say that you believe me, and I'm yours, forever."

He freezes in place, ceasing all movement, all breath, and time stops. Fear is present behind his eyes, an all-consuming terror at my request, and I wait with bated breath for his answer. "I'm sorry," he replies with limitless remorse. "I am so truly sorry, Elena, but I don't. I got caught up in the moment, and I shouldn't have."

My heart breaks with every word. I thought he understood. I thought he was ready, but after all that I shared with him, he still can't believe. I roll off the bed, and Damon tries to reach for me, but I move too quickly across the room. I can't let him touch me, because if he does, I'll break apart into a million unfixable parts. I wish I could be madder at him. I wish I could hate him for making me feel this way, but as I look into his eyes, all I see is a cruel agony that is tearing the man I love to pieces, and in that moment I feel sorrier for his pain than I do my own. The wounds on his heart, on his soul, are too deep and too old to be fixed in just one day with a few pretty words and stolen kisses. He needs more, and I'm determined before this week is out to give him all that I have, to offer myself completely to him. It's a scarier risk than I've ever taken, but what is love if not a leap of faith? And I still believe despite all this that Damon will always catch me. So I leave for the day, I go home to lick my own wounds, regroup, and live to fight another day, because one lost battle does not define a war.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	16. Chapter 16

**Okay so first off, I am so so sorry that it took me this long to update, but work, and real life got in the way, and I just didn't have the time. That being said, this is the longest chapter that I've ever written, so if you just count this as two chapters, then it doesn't seem that bad that I waited so long. Forgive me yet? **

**Also if you are wondering why I keep saying this is the longest chapter that I've ever written, it is because my chapters keep getting longer. You can thank/blame Cher Sue for that. She just gives me so many ideas, than I have to try to jam all of them into one chapter, and it goes on forever. It is all her fault, and I blame her entirely, and I also don't know what I'd do without her invaluable help, so it's a conundrum.**

**I also want to thank all of my amazing reviewers. You guys rock, and I love reading each and every one of your comments. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy.**

Six days, that's all that's left in this thus far failed experiment of Elena's. And if yesterday was any indication, I'm going to feel every excruciating second of it. At this rate, she may spend the whole damn week crying or making me want to stake myself for being such a jackass. Her face, the agony in her eyes as she fought back tears, is on a near constant loop reminding me of the pain I'd caused her, after I basically called her a liar again.

If only she could see that I'm doing this for her, for us. It's better to rip off the Band-Aid now than six months from now or year from now when she'll inevitably gaze at me with those same apologetic doe eyes and tell me how sorry she is that she couldn't make it work, that she couldn't love me enough to see past my flaws. This summer aside, the whole hero costume never fit quite right, and the white hat just didn't go with the leather jacket. Soon enough she'd see it. Elena would realize that I'll never be a boy scout, or coach the Mystic Falls little league team, or put an excessive amount of product in my hair. And God knows I could never adopt a puppy, what if Stefan relapses and starts binge drinking on the family pets? I would have to make up some story for Elena about how Spot ran away or was given to a nice family with a big yard, and then explain why we could never visit.

So obviously I was right. I was justified. It's for the best. Just when I'm convinced of my own righteousness in this matter, a stray thought wanders in and reminds me that I'm just an ass. _I was never supposed to hurt her._ That was a promise that I made to myself after snapping Jeremy's neck last year. Hurting her was for other people, like Stefan, Bonnie, or Jeremy. My job was to fix her, to swoop in, save the day, make the tough decisions, whether she liked it or not. That was my role in all of this. But as I look down at the stuffed hippo, that somehow made its way back into my arms, (my theory is that Po can secretly move, like on Toy Story), I'm convinced that for better or worse, those roles are about to change.

Just as I'm about to contemplate _hugging_ the hippo (shhh, don't tell anybody), Elena knocks uncertainly on my door. "Can I come in," she requests hesitantly, afraid that I'll turn her away again. I attempt to put her at ease with a casual smirk that seems to calm her nerves.

"In the entire history of us knowing each other, when have you ever asked permission?" I sarcastically ask, recalling all the times she's wandered/stormed into my bedroom. Elena smiles right back, losing all sense of awkwardness and discomfort.

"Says the man who routinely enters my house via my bedroom window," she quickly retorts. With that one sentence, the ice is broken, and the tension from yesterday appears to have been forgotten. We're back to our always uncertain status quo.

"What can I say," I nonchalantly shrug, "ringing the doorbell eliminates the element of surprise. Besides going through the window is way more fun. You're such a scaredy cat that you jump three inches every time I enter the room," I add jokingly. Elena chuckles and rolls her eyes at the same time. She somehow manages to find me amusing and feign annoyance all at once. I have to admire her multitasking. Elena finally settles down the giggling and settles into a warm smile.

"At least I know life with you will never be boring," she comments affectionately. And with one little sentence the tension is back with a vengeance. It's a good thing neither of us requires air to breathe, because I think the tension in the room might choke us both to death. My guilt makes a sudden reappearance as I try to voice my regrets over my recent behavior.

"Listen about last night . . ." I struggle to explain.

"No," Elena cuts in suddenly.

"Elena," I attempt to interject.

"I said no," she repeats harshly. "We're not going to do this. I'm not going to let you apologize to me. You didn't do anything wrong," Elena insists forcefully.

"You ran out of here crying Elena," I remind her. Elena's face softens and I swear she almost looks . . . ashamed.

"Yes I did," she admits effortlessly, "but that was because of my own faults, not because of yours." I stare at her, perplexed by why she would be beating herself up for something that I said.

"What are you talking about?" I ask her, whilst seeing the conflict in her face. Whatever Elena's reasons, they're deeply troubling her. When she does speak, her voice occasionally quivers, like she's struggling to keep it together. The only thing that is clear is that I'm not the only one fighting with my guilt.

"You couldn't say what I needed to hear, because you couldn't trust that I could love you," Elena states with an undercurrent of pain in her voice, "and I don't yet know how much of that was caused by my mistakes, and how much of it was caused by the mistakes of others. So don't you dare apologize to me. Because you'd either be apologizing for insecurities that I fostered, or you'd be apologizing for telling me the truth instead of lying to me just so I would sleep with you and either reason would break my heart." I fight against every instinct in my body to reach out and touch her, but I lose after having barely begun. My resistance snaps and I close the distance between us. Once we're breathing the same air, I gently wipe the tear from her face, and run my other hand through her hair.

"I wish I could make you understand," I plead. "I'm not doing this to punish you."

"I don't need explanations," Elena promises. "I get it. You have no idea how much I get it. You've got issues, fear of abandonment, fear of rejection, and a deep seated fear about trusting people to name just a few." Great, now she's psychoanalyzing me. This can only end badly.

"So you think I'm afraid of losing people, getting hurt, and letting people in?" I summarize accurately. "I'm sorry do you want to be the pot or the kettle in this situation, because I'm not choosy?" I mock derisively.

"That's the point," Elena contends, "we're both screwed up, we're both really scared, but we're both still here trying to figure out this thing between us, and I figure that has to mean something."

"I think most people define it as insanity," I suggest, "doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result."

"So let's do something different," she proposes hopefully, "because clearly my speeches aren't having much impact."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what you have in mind," I reply skeptically.

"We're going to spend the day together," Elena declares, "no drama, and no speeches, just us."

"Why?" I ask, confused and uncertain. "What will today prove that all your speeches couldn't?" Elena breaks out her mischievous/fake innocent smile, and I know I'm in for trouble.

"Today isn't about proving something," she assures me. "Today is about stepping away from our lives for five minutes." It's impossible not to laugh when I hear my own words echoed almost verbatim from our trip to Georgia.

"So now you're stealing my lines now?"

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery," she answers gleefully. "So what do you say? Do you think you can spare five minutes of your eternity?" I take a few seconds to at least act like I'm considering it before giving in.

"For you, why not? Where are we going?" I inquire curiously. Elena's face splits into a wide childlike smile.

"It's a surprise," she exclaims. But after five seconds of skeptical staring, she calls me on it. "Who's the scaredy cat now? Do you think I'm going to take you off into the woods and murder you?"

"No," I respond defensively, "but I haven't ruled out several other unsavory activities."

"Really," Elena replies mockingly, "and what are these terrifying activities that scare a centuries old vampire?"

"Well for all I know you're asking me to hang out with judgy all day," I answer with faux horror written on my face. "A man has his limits you know." The infamous eye rolls make another appearance.

"Oh, you big baby," Elena scolds, "and to answer your question, no Bonnie will not be joining us." I perk right back up after the confirmation, and Elena seems really annoyed.

"Alright I'll grab my coat," I announce happily, as Elena resists the urge to shove me out the door. Once we're outside, Elena asks that I follow her towards my surprise. We reach the clearing, and it only takes a second for me to recognize her chosen spot. This is where I was turned. Stefan forced me to drink from my first victim not 30 feet from where Elena is currently standing. I've avoided this spot for almost a century. Why would Elena possibly choose this place for a break from reality?

"Why are we here?" I ask in an almost accusatory tone, but instead of growing defensive, Elena doesn't balk at the sharp edge to my tone. She strives for patience in the face of my charges.

"You've been alive a long time," Elena declares, "and I'm sure there are literally hundreds of places that hold bad memories for you, and since we can't erase the past, I thought we could at least write a new memory for this place, a happier memory to replace the old. This could be the place where you sat and had a picnic with me."

After she mentions the word picnic, I spot a tiny basket lying on top a blue blanket carefully laid out on the grass. "You made me food?" I ask in disbelief as I recall the time this summer when Elena tried to make eggs one morning and nearly burned down the house. While her intentions might be honorable, if I eat her food, she might inadvertently poison me.

"I didn't make this," Elena clarifies to my relief. "Caroline and Bonnie prepared it while I was at the boardinghouse trying to convince you to come with me."

"So now I'm certain it's poisoned," I respond, only half-jokingly.

"Since I didn't specify which sandwich was for you, I think you're safe," Elena promises with a teasing smile.

"As sweet as the gesture is with the picnic and the food, you do remember that we're both vampires right? It's not like we have to keep up appearances in the middle of nowhere," I remind her.

"Which is why I asked Caroline to pack us both something extra," Elena replies proud of her impeccable planning skills. As Elena unpacks the basket, I see two sandwiches, a couple blood bags, four glasses, a bottle of bourbon, and a Tupperware container filled with pickles. So basically this is my dream picnic, right down to my favorite blood type that Elena was kind enough to bring me.

"What's with the year's supply of pickles?" I quip teasingly.

"Well I know your fondness for them, so I told Caroline and Bonnie to pack as many pickles as they could find in the house," Elena answers, slightly embarrassed when she sees that the number of pickles in the basket could probably feed a small African village.

"It still baffles me that you could not like pickles," I respond as I pop one into my mouth to prove my point. That fire that ignites in her eyes when she's being challenged appears out of nowhere.

"Fine," Elena states, "I'll try your nasty pickles if you're so sure." She tosses one into her mouth, chews for a second, and then appears to have some sort of coughing fit/seizure. I start to suspect that witchy laced the pickles with vervain, until Elena spits it out and exclaims, "Those are disgusting and slimy. I think your taste buds died out some time around the industrial revolution"

I'm trying very hard not to laugh hysterically at her expressions as she tries to wipe the pickle essence off her tongue. Once Elena recognizes my extreme amusement at her dislike of my pickles, she playfully thumps me in the shoulder. I hold my hands up in forfeit, because for a tiny little thing, she packs quit a punch. "I surrender. Besides, I thought it was kind of cute. You ate pickles for me," I declare with an odd sense of pride that someone would do that for me.

After that, Elena's anger vanishes in an instant. She reaches up her hand to wipe some stray pickle juice from my chin. My breathing changes the second her skin comes into contact with mine, and I know Elena can hear the difference. After resting her hand far too long on my chin, she lowers it, apparently remembering her promise that today would be drama free. But no matter how hard either of us tried, we couldn't just turn off the sexual tension between us. It is always there, just beneath the surface of our banter, and our seemingly innocent touches. So after pouring myself a larger than necessary glass of bourbon and taking a large swig from the glass, I ask a rather pointed question.

"Other than a break from reality, what is this morning excursion really about?" I ask suspiciously, doubting the purity of anyone's motives that was being so nice to me.

"I just want to get to know you, and I thought if we just hung out without all the pressures of what this week means, that you might open up to me. You're not exactly an open book," Elena claims.

"So this is a bribe to get me to spill all my deep dark secrets?" I kid lightly, hoping to lift the mood.

"Pretty much," Elena admits with an easy smile on her face.

I toss back the rest of my bourbon, and prepare myself a cup of O positive for my brunch. "Well since you did go to all this trouble, I guess it would be rude not to reciprocate. What do you want to know?" Elena looks surprise and encouraged by my willingness to go along with her plan.

"Everything," she answers excited, "I want to know everything." I chuckle a bit at her eagerness.

"Care to narrow that down a bit," I suggest, since a century and a half is a long time to cover in one afternoon.

"Tell me something about yourself that I don't already know, something personal," Elena states. Personal information is something that I typically guard like the crown jewels or those super high tech weapons that James Bond is always fighting over. And now I'm going to spill those secrets to a teenage girl, without at least the excuse of being tortured. Couldn't she slap me around a little bit first, so I could at least hold on to my pride? But then I have the issue of getting beat up by a girl, so this really is a lose-lose situation. Finally I come up with something that seems personal enough to meet Elena's criteria, but not so much that it gives too much away.

"I'm a bit of a neat freak," I confess. "It's a practiced habit over many decades, since Stefan is basically a disorganized packrat. The boardinghouse is immaculate, because I clean the whole place at least once a week when no one else is home. I do have a reputation to uphold, and I don't think it could survive someone seeing me dusting." Elena's face immediately tells me that my completely understandable stance on my standards of cleanliness isn't going to make the cut.

"That doesn't count," She explains, confirming my suspicions. "I knew you were a neat freak already."

"You did how?" I ask, surprised that she knew something about myself that I hadn't told her.

"Are you kidding," Elena asks rhetorically, "there is never a single thing out of place in your room, your bed is always made, and I think my kitchen table is dirtier than your floor. Plus one time I might've caught you fluffing the pillows late at night when you thought I had gone to bed." I'm floored by her admission. A human was snooping on me while I was doing a less than manly activity, and I didn't notice. I think I'm going to lose my man card and my vampire card in one day.

"And you never said anything?" I question, surprised that she didn't plague me with questions about my mysterious cleaning habits.

"I didn't want to embarrass you," Elena confesses, "so I kept it to myself." I smile gratefully to her for her discretion.

"Thank you," I state sincerely. "I don't think I could've withstood Stefan's teasing if he'd been the one to catch me, at least not without socking him in the jaw." Elena laughs despite herself, and I realize that this sharing thing might not be so bad. It actually is kind of fun.

"Well I'm happy that I could keep the peace," Elena declares, "but you still owe me a confession." She really is like a dog with a bone, but I'm less pessimistic about opening up.

"Okay," I give in, "something personal, what about this, I've played the piano since I was six years old."

"You play an instrument?" Elena asks, as if I'd just told her that I could fly and read minds. Sounds like somebody has a thing for musicians.

"You say that with such an astounding amount of surprise," I observe. "Stefan dabbles in the guitar. We're a very musical family. It all started with our mother. When I was very small, maybe three or four, my mother would pick me up and sit me next to her on the piano. By the time I was six, she started teaching me every night before I went to bed. She dreamed that I would be a great musician like she never had the chance to be, so she insisted that I practice every day. Which I did, even after my mother had passed on, I kept playing on that same piano stool for over 15 years, until I was turned. After that I was so caught up in my own pain, grief, and anger, that I forgot my promise to my mother. I still play from time to time, but it's more of a tribute to her than actual enjoyment anymore."

In the span of two minutes, I've revealed more about myself than I've told anyone in over a hundred years. That was something that I never even told Katherine. She never questioned, noticed, or cared that I played the piano, so it never came up. Yet Elena was eating up every small detail about my life like it was of vital importance. Unfortunately, the look that she's giving me right now was inevitable. She has the sad, we're both orphan eyes, but reminiscing over our own loss of parental figures is not how I envisioned my break from reality. Before I get a chance to change the subject, Elena probes even deeper.

"You've never told me about her," Elena recalls. "Stefan never did either."

"He was so young when she died that I'm not sure how much he would even remember," I explain. And even after all this time, Stefan still remembers the pain of losing her. Neither one of us ever wanted to relive that awful time in our lives, but Elena leaves me little choice. She's pretty much impossible to say no to.

"Will you tell me about her?" Elena begs, desperate to unlock some vital piece of the puzzle about my upbringing.

"I haven't spoken about my mother in over 100 years," I admit, "but if you really want to know, I'll try." Elena nods her head, signaling that I should continue.

"Her name was Evelyn," I tell Elena, "and my father used to remark that she was the belle of the county, and not just because of her physical beauty. The priest at her funeral said she had a purity of spirit, an utter selflessness that shone through in her every action. She used to collect the extra food in our kitchen and sneak it to the village without my father's knowledge. Rain or shine, she would deliver food weekly to the county's poor and downtrodden. Men, women, and children survived through years of harsh winters because of her. On the day that she died, over a hundred people surrounded our house in a type of vigil praying for a miraculous recovery. From everything that I remember, and all that everyone told me, my mother was a saint. It's no wonder my father became such a bastard after she passed. He used to say that she was the one good thing that ever happened to him. Apparently his own children didn't count as a blessing, because when she was taken away, he became harsh, and bitter, and cruel." My own anger and bitterness coat my tongue as I remember the condemnations that I endured from that man. Whatever outward emotions I might be displaying are nothing compared to Elena's display. I swear I think she's going to cry from my story alone.

"That's awful," Elena states, because there's nothing much else you can say.

"It was all that Stefan and I knew for half our human lives. We came to expect it," I brush it off like it's nothing. I can tell by the skeptical eye thing that Elena likes to do that she's not buying it, but she doesn't push any harder about my father. But Elena was by no means done with her little fact finding mission, and she fires away with her next question.

"So if she died when Stefan was still young, what happened to her?" I sigh as I recollect memories long since buried.

"It was influenza of all things," I begin wearily. "One day when she was delivering her weekly rations to the poor there was a terrible downpour. My mother was outside in the rain for over an hour before she made it back to the estate. By the second day, she had a high fever, and three days later she was gone." It was the first time that I've ever told a single soul that story, and I struggle not to shed a single tear. Elena continues on with exposing all my old wounds to the light of day.

"How old were you?"

"I was twelve," I answer distantly. "Stefan was still so young. He spent weeks wailing in his bed. I would hear him while I was trying to sleep, and I would sneak into his room to sing him my mother's lullaby to calm him enough so he could sleep."

After my rather painful retelling of events long since passed, Elena has been eerily quiet. But after a few minutes, she developed the strangest smile on her face. That smile was warm and genuine, and it seemed so out of place at the moment.

"What?" I finally asked when the curiosity was getting to me.

"It's nothing," Elena dismisses quickly. "I just didn't think it was possible.

"You didn't think what was possible?" I take up the job of probing deeper and asking questions.

"I just didn't think it was possible to love you more today than I did yesterday," she confesses, entirely serious. "I didn't think it was possible to love someone that much that it grows with every passing day." I take a beat to absorb what Elena said before responding.

"I'm not that little boy anymore," I remind her sadly, maybe even guiltily. "You can't love me more because of who I was."

"Yes I can," Elena contradicts me instantly, "because whether you see it or not, that twelve year old boy is still in there. He's the same person who helped bring Stefan back from the brink. You're still the same big brother trying to take Stefan's pain away. So you can stop with this ridiculous notion that I only love a part of you. I love all of you. I see all of you, sometimes even better than you see yourself, but I want to know more. One day I want to know everything, and since we have eternity, I think you can get it all covered sometime in the next hundred years."

"You're doing that annoyingly stubborn thing again," I comment frustrated at her persistence.

"And you're doing that evasively stubborn thing again, so I'd say we're about even," Elena contends. "So since we still have ¾ of a bottle of bourbon left, and you've told me exactly two personal things about yourself, I'd say it's time for another question. I'll even make it an easy one, nothing personal about it. Where was the most exciting place you've ever visited?"

This is by far her easiest question, so I don't see any harm in revealing a little more, as long as the conversation doesn't drift back to my mother or father, this might return to a fun morning.

"I traveled to Australia in 1965. The American public was all about the free love and free flow of drugs. While I heartily approved of the first part, the second created a bitter taste in the blood, so I fled to a more remote location for a few months. I toured the continent, and one day came face to face with a Tasmanian Devil," I recount

"Like the cartoon?" Elena asks, as she channels Caroline's four year old voice, but it almost sounds cute on Elena.

"Yes Elena," I confirm, not wanting to kill her childhood dreams. "They are just like they are in the cartoon. They also have a tendency to attack when they feel threatened. This poor animal was too stupid to realize that I was at the top of the evolutionary food chain. He charged me, and I put my fist through his stomach," I describe graphically. Luckily Elena's queasiness at listening to my gory stories has subsided since she became a vampire, so I wasn't witness to her blowing chunks all over our picnic. If anything, she almost seemed enthralled with the story, and it wasn't hard to guess why. Elena had never been anywhere outside the continental U.S. Her great life adventures were still ahead of her, and there was a big part of me that wanted to be there when she truly saw the world for the first time, which is probably why I was so soft when she asked her next question.

"Could you take me there someday? Could you show me a Tasmanian Devil, and whatever else there is to see?" Elena asks timidly, unsure whether this is a step too far.

"Maybe someday," I compromise. Her face lights up at the prospect, and she hits me with her next question.

"Any pets growing up? I know dogs were not likely pets back then, but your father owned horses didn't he?" Elena probably thought this was another softball question. What's so dangerous about asking about your pet horse, but she didn't know the first thing about Shadow, and she didn't know the first thing about Giuseppe Salvatore. But against my better judgment, I told her the story anyway. God knows she would've found out using her diabolical powers of persuasion.

"Yes," I admit, "I had a childhood horse that was given to me as a birthday present from my mother. His name was Shadow. He was the last gift that my mother ever gave me. I rode Shadow twice a day every day until my father invited some business associates over for a midday hunt. One of the men was an inexperienced rider, and a fool. Shadow tossed him from the saddle. Although the man's pride was wounded far more than the minor scrapes and bruises on his body, he still threw quite a fit. He insisted that Shadow was a dangerous animal. While I was brushing him down for the day, my father walked in with a shot gun, and he killed my horse right in front of me. My father replaced Shadow with some young stallion that he had bought off a local farmer, but I refused to ride him. I gave the horse to Stefan, and refused to ever look at him again."

Once the facts of my second depressing tale of the day sunk in, Elena looked like she had personally witnessed Shadow being put down. It was if her entire faith in humanity had been shattered.

"It wasn't all bad," I assure her. "My childhood wasn't some Charles Dickens' novel. I still played with the other kids, swam down at the swimming hole, and found time to keep Stefan out of trouble. So you don't have to feel sorry for me. I don't need your pity."

"Pity is what you feel for strangers," Elena corrects me gloomily. "What I feel for you is empathy and sadness and love, but most of all hope. I am hopeful, because as terrible as it was turning into a vampire, and suffering all that you have been through, it brought you here to this moment. I'm hopeful, because I know that your worst days are not the end of your story. They are just the lowest parts of it. It also gives me hope, because I know now that the lowest parts of my own story aren't the end either."

"Aren't you just the little optimist?"

"Well one of us has to be. Surely you haven't been this pessimistic forever?" She asks what sounds disturbingly like another question, which I seem powerless to avoid answering. My diversion tactics have obviously not improved, so my only other option is surrender.

"It might surprise you to know that my father saw me as nothing but a dreamer," I admit in my act of forfeit.

"What did you dream about?" Elena asks, fascinated with one new tidbit of information that she can decipher to try to get the whole picture of who I really am.

"Normal things," I claim casually. "I wanted to practice law actually."

"You, a lawyer," Elena balks in disbelief.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" I ask, mildly offended at her judgment of my once chosen profession.

"You have the least respect for our laws than anyone I've ever met," Elena argues persuasively.

"Well I used to have a great deal of respect for the law," I defend strongly, "but once you become a vampire, you're no longer bound by human ideas like laws. After a while, it seemed rather trivial worrying about some piece of paper that essentially tried to tell me what I could and couldn't do, so I don't regret not being able to pursue the law."

"What do you regret?" Elena asks the obvious follow up question.

"It isn't about regrets. It's about how I envisioned my life before I became I vampire. I always thought I'd get married to some pretty young woman with a sharp wit and a spunky attitude. I imagined surrounding myself with at least six children, spending my days at work, and my nights talking and playing with my family." Elena just stares in disbelief at my admission. She finally realized that I was once just like everybody else. "You weren't the only one who once dreamed of a normal life," I concede.

Elena gazes at me with a new level of understanding, and I think she finally has had her fill for the day. The alcohol and blood has run dry, and she starts to pack up the remains of the picnic. But before she adds the rest to the tiny basket she tells me, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you missed out on being a parent, because I think you could've been amazing."

"You too," is all I can say to such a compliment. She nods in acknowledgement and adds.

"There's one more stop we have to make before we go home," Elena declares. I follow closely behind her once more, and when we stop, we're in a familiar section of the Mystic Falls Cemetery. Elena's standing four feet in front of her parents' tombstones.

"Why are we here?" I ask for the second time today.

"Because you shared personal things with me today, things that you maybe weren't sure you wanted me to know, so I wanted to reciprocate. I wanted to introduce you to my parents. Other than for the funerals, I've never taken anyone else to the cemetery with me. This was my spot where I could be alone with them, and I never wanted to share that spot with anyone but you. So come sit down with me and say hello."

I let her say her peace before I opened my mouth, which was good, because Elena had a lot to say. "I know this breaks with our tradition of just the three of us," Elena begins tearfully. "But I brought someone with me today, and before you meet him, I should mention that he's a vampire, and so am I. But Damon, he's a good man, and he loves me, and I'm not just saying that because he's two feet away. He really is, and I think with enough time he could've won you over. God knows Damon's quite the charmer. He's saved me more times than I can count, and I've saved him a few times as well. Damon's the one who taught me how to be strong when you two weren't around to do it anymore. So you don't have to worry about me any longer. I am safe, I am loved, and I am happy, and there was time once when you said that that was all that you wished for me. So I hope in at least one way I haven't let you down. So without further ado this is Damon," Elena announces as she points to me to scoot up and say something.

I was never very good with communicating with living parents, let alone dead ones, so I am drastically out of my element. All I can think of is telling the truth. There isn't any harm in being honest with the dead. It's not like they can expose me or haunt me from beyond the grave. Although with Jeremy seeing ghosts, that is quickly becoming a more likely scenario, but I suck it up, and start my first conversation with tombstones.

"Now that you've just heard your daughter talk me up, I'm sure you were picturing the male version of Mother Theresa, so I'm sorry if I'm a disappointment. I don't know what else to say, except that I wish you could be here to see what amazingly strong, independent woman that your daughter has grown up to be. Vampire or not, no one could do any better. And she did get one thing right in her little speech about me. I do love her, and I will protect her with my very life. You have my word."

Once I rise to a standing position again, Elena and I walk slowly back out of the cemetery as she clutches my arm tightly. When we are finally back at the boardinghouse, Elena walks me to the room, like I'm the girl in this relationship, and I feel an overwhelming urge to say something. "Oddly enough, I had fun today," I declare. "Although next time we take a timeout, can it be in a bar with darts and a well-stocked liquor supply?"

Elena laughs for the first time in over an hour, and agrees to my request. She leans up and kisses me briefly on the cheek. It is such an innocent gesture, but with that one second of contact, I wanted more, but before I could say anything, she had already left. So instead, I walked back into my room, plopped down on the bed and grabbed Po, feeling confident I wouldn't get caught this time. "I've got a secret," I whisper to the hippo. "I am in so much trouble."

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	17. Chapter 17

**Okay, so this update is like two days late, but it is still super long, so that should count for something. This chapter could have easily been +7,000 words, but I feared it was endangering my mental health, so I had to cut it short. My brain is currently mush, so if any of this doesn't make sense, blame it on my mushy brain.**

**As always thanks to my fantastic reviewers. I love reading and responding to each and every one of you. Also thanks to Cher Sue for being my sounding board, and deadline giver for this chapter. I totally made it!**

**So without further ado, I hope you all enjoy.**

Diversion tactics: failed, outright rejection: failed, and playing along: yep, you guessed it, also failed. All of my great plans and strategies for surviving this week rank as truly epic failures, because she just keeps coming. No matter what I say, or what I do, she just never stops, and the worst part is that I don't want her to stop. All my reasonable explanations for why Elena and I would implode the second the sex high wears off don't mean a damn thing when she's staring at me with those deep brown eyes. They're like my kryptonite. I can't even look at Po without being reminded of her, which I suppose was all part of her diabolical plan. I hate to admit how well it's working. I've resorted to avoidance in a last ditch effort not to succumb to Elena's considerable charms.

In a truly surprising turn of events, my new strategy is actually successful. I haven't seen Elena in over 24 hours now, and I only miss her . . . a lot, but that's hardly relevant. The point is that I'm free and she can't find me if I keep moving. I've managed to escape notice from Elena and all of her little friends, who, I'm convinced, are now her spies. Paranoia it seems is an unfortunate side effect of being on the run, and I still haven't left Mystic Falls' city limits.

As I finally settle in for the night, in Ric's old apartment, I'm comforted by the fact that everything is going according to plan. Suffice it to say, I don't need a magic 8 ball to tell me that this can't possibly last. Six hours is all it takes for my brilliant plan to come crashing down, which is right about the time I feel the ice cold water being poured on my face. As I spit the offensively freezing liquid out of my mouth, I peer up into those so called innocent doe eyes at the source of the morning waterfall.

"Oh, I'm sorry did I wake you?" Elena feigns remorse, as she holds more water above my head like a threat. "If you had been in your own bed instead of hiding from me like a little girl, I might've let you get your beauty sleep." Well she's pissed I observe immediately. Her eyes are fixed like laser beams on my head, and her hands are on her hips in a defensive stance. She almost reminds me of Wonder Woman, only hotter.

The extra bits of water that Elena dribbles on my head are all it takes to wake me up and prepare me for the inevitable argument to follow. "I was not hiding," I defend myself indignantly. "I was merely tracking your movements and ensuring that I was elsewhere," I elaborate lamely. My excuse is sounding worse after I say it out loud, and judging by the still stone cold expression on Elena's face, she's not buying it either.

"So you were just reverse stalking me," Elena cleverly quips.

"Well reverse stalking does sound more manly, albeit creepier than hiding from a little girl, so I think I'll take it," I accept jokingly. But apparently Elena left her sense of humor at home, or possibly in the car, because her death ray glare seems set to kill.

"You _finally_ opened up to me," Elena states, exasperated by my behavior. "You shared things with me, about your mother, your father, and even your childhood horse, but then you just run away. Just when I think we're making progress, you do something to remind me that I'm still back at square one," she replies dejectedly. Her anger has lost some its steam, and the tortured pain written on her face tells me that she's more hurt than pissed. I wipe the remaining water off my face and guide her to the still dry part of the bed and force her to sit.

"You're not back at square one," I assure her honestly. If she only knew how much traction her plan was actually getting, I'd be in real trouble.

"So why, if we've made actual progress then why run?" Elena asks a fair, straightforward, and reasonable question, which I have every intention of avoiding.

"Well you see that's a complicated question," I respond nervously. I swear a bead of sweat is dripping down my forehead. Elena starts to pick up on it, and I can slowly see the gears shifting in her head.

"It was _because_ we were making progress," Elena wisely deduces. "That's why you ran away," she states in a gleeful realization. I think she's about to do her little four year old jumping dance again when I feel the harsh sting of the back of her hand hitting my cheek. "That's for not keeping up your end of the deal," Elena announces with an unspoken scary/sexy warning in her voice.

I grab hold of both of her arms and lock them at her sides as I give my rebuttal. "Technically speaking, you never said I couldn't avoid you. The terms of the deal were never specific. You should really read the fine print before making any deals with the devil," I advise graciously. Thinking the danger has passed, I release her arms, and my helpful suggestion earns me another slap upside the head.

"In some states, this could be considered abuse," I sarcastically kid, trying to get a rise out of her.

"And in some states justifiable homicide is an acceptable defense," she reminds me darkly. The mischievous grin is a warning sign that I better make peace before Elena enacts whatever murder plan I'm certain is currently brewing in her mind.

"It was only a day," I stress emphatically. "If you really think I welched on our deal, I'll give you an extra day to make it even," I offer diplomatically.

"Oh, no," Elena responds aggressively. "You might be comfortable with creating loopholes in our deal, but I'm not. The timeline stays, so I've only got three more days, but I have conditions."

"What, a tracking anklet, nightly bed checks?" As I list off the most ridiculous ideas I can think of, Elena's humor makes a surprising reappearance as I see the beginnings of a smile teased across her face.

"No," she replies, trying to force herself to look displeased. "Stop hiding from me," Elena demands forcefully. "That's all that I'm asking of you."

Her sincerity wipes the smile right off my face instantly. "I won't run anymore," I promise genuinely. The sincere, somber mood lasts all of three seconds before I feel the compulsion to make another wise crack. "But just for my own comfort can you tell me one thing?" I request with a deceiving amount of seriousness in my tone. "Your friends acted as your spies, didn't they?"

Elena's hint of a smile is now a full blown smirk, which rivals my own. "Yes, you absurdly paranoid vampire," she mocks freely. "I did enlist Bonnie, Caroline, Matt, and Jeremy in your search party."

"I feel I should point out that it's not paranoia if you're right," I counter with a bit of sound logic.

"Isn't that what all paranoid people say before they're taken away by the nice men in the white coats?" Elena argues, no longer appearing to be actively plotting my murder.

"I was right," I repeat vehemently. "Although honestly I have no idea how you managed to pull everyone away from their little lives just to find me. Surely Caroline had an event to plan. The Grille's dishes must have piled up without Matt to wash them. I figure Bonnie uses her spare time to play darts imagining that they're aimed at my head, and Jeremy for sure had some wicked video that is only entertaining when you're stoned." Elena appears shocked at my truthful account of what I imagine her little friends do in a day.

"Contrary to your delusional opinion, my friends don't actually hate you," Elena swears. A few seconds pass. "What they don't," she adds after staring at my blatant skepticism.

"Really, the people who I have all uniquely terrorized at one point bear no grudge of resentment, that's really the party line on this one?"

"It's true," Elena promises defensively. "I might not expect them to friend you on Facebook, but I wouldn't start a relationship with anyone if I felt like my friends or my family couldn't accept it."

"Well I'll believe that when Hell freezes over and I can witness said miracle for myself," I mock with a strong undercurrent of truth in my words. Elena's eyes light up once more, and I consider calling those nice doctors with the white coats to give Elena something to regulate her drastically changing moods.

"That sounds like a challenge," Elena observes excitedly. "If you think my friends hate you, I'll prove to you that you're wrong." She practically double dog dares me. Clearly I'm facing a worthy opponent. Elena knows my weakness for being challenged.

"And what do I get if I'm right and your friends secretly make those voodoo dolls of me in their spare time?" My inquisitive nature is looking for the other shoe that is bound to drop with this seemingly innocent agreement.

"I'll let you go a day early," Elena vows confidently. "You claim to want your freedom so bad, so I'll give it to you if you give me a chance to prove you wrong." This feels like a trap, I think wearily to myself. Warning bells are sounding in my head.

"And on the off chance that I'm wrong," I probe suspiciously, "what do I have to do, hold out another month?"

"No," Elena answers nonchalantly, "you just have to kiss me." Those warning bells are now blaring with flashy red lights and everything. I nearly came undone when she kissed me _on the cheek. _If I have to kiss _her_ I'll probably get so caught up in the moment that I'll propose marriage before I even have a chance to cop a feel. If I lose this bet, I am so screwed. If, becomes the key word that I fixate on for second. All these nightmare scenarios only happen _if_ I lose. Only _if _Elena's friends secretly like me am I in trouble. They hate me. I'm surprised Elena's collection of misfit toys that she calls friends haven't formed an organization to plot my imminent destruction. Caroline would be in charge and Judgy would execute the battle plans. Obviously my fugitive induced paranoia has some residual effects.

After taking a rather long, dramatic pause, I finally agree, because I know that there's no way Elena can force her friends to fake liking me for an entire afternoon. Elena scampers off to coordinate schedules with her friends, and she threatens that if I'm not at the Grille at our agreed to time that she'll start chopping off body parts starting with my favorite one.

After what I'm sure was some desperate begging and bargaining, Elena manages to gather her little gang in the Grille for our forced group date. Everyone from Jeremy to Judgy are plastering fake smiles on their faces as if they're really happy to see me. I'm not sure whether she slipped them twenties or drugs to smile creepy like that, but it's sort of freaking me out. In one of the bigger surprises of the day, ranking right below water being poured on my face, Stefan is actually in attendance. He looks about as happy to be here as I do, so I bypass Elena and the Scooby gang to slide right next to my baby bro.

"At least tell me that she's paying you for this exercise in awkwardness," I joke in an attempt to ease the tension.

Stefan breaks his broody forehead stare for all of ten seconds to laugh at my little joke. Obviously his time with Blondie is paying off, because Stefan seems in serious danger of developing a sense of humor. "Caroline talked me into it," Stefan explains. "It has something to do with moving on and facing the reality of you two as a couple. I didn't really catch all of it, because Caroline was talking faster than even vampires can listen, so I just nodded my head a lot, and somehow ended up here."

"It's not my fault you were being all mopey," Blondie chimes in offended at the veiled insult, "You needed some fun, and I am your cruise director for all things fun."

Stefan rolls his eye at the ridiculousness that is Caroline, but the pleased smirk that inches up the contours of his face isn't subtle. Neither are the googly eyes that Caroline is making at Stefan, so before they start playing footsie under the table, I drag my brother away from the crowd.

"Why don't we get the drinks," I suggest to my rather distracted baby brother. "Something tells me I need to be a lot drunker for this." Stefan breaks himself free from Caroline's gaze long enough to join me. On the short walk up to the bar, I notice a familiar face, or familiar scowl as the case may be, greeting me/despising me from behind the bar. Donnie's back! And here I thought we'd seen the last of the surly bartender after I spit my bourbon on him, twice.

"Oh, no, no, no, not you people again," Donnie bemoans loudly. "Can't you drink somewhere else? I hear Richmond is nice. Maybe you should all move there."

"And miss this customer service," I jest, "never." Donnie's murderous glare has nothing on Elena's, and he certainly looks less attractive doing it.

"I only took this job back because my boss offered me a twenty percent raise. Apparently people think this position is cursed, because all the bartenders tend to mysteriously vanish, and I'm the only sane person who isn't swayed by superstition. At least I wasn't until I met you people. Now I'm beginning to think that you're the curse," Donnie proclaims dramatically.

"You really should channel these angry feelings into something productive my friend," I suggest glibly. "Maybe you could join a theater group. You've certainly got the dramatic flair, and you'll be used to people spitting in your face as they pronounce their lines."

Donnie is holding the bottle of alcohol pretty tightly. Any second it might shatter in his hand, and he might use the shards to stab me. "20 percent raise, 20 percent raise," he keeps mumbling to himself. He pours out everyone's usual order and shoves them in front of Stefan and I. "You and your little friends are to sit over there," he points in the far off direction of our table. "You are to stay far away from me, so that I am at no point in your splash zone," he directs bitterly, probably regretting that company policy keeps him from punching me in the face.

I flash my typical pleased smirk and shrug my shoulders as we walk away. Stefan talks softly into my ear as he warns me, "One of these days that guy is going to sock you across the jaw, and neither God nor Caroline will stop me from laughing then."

"Let's not go overboard with your newfound sense of humor," I warn Stefan. "I wouldn't want you to strain yourself. Being hilariously funny doesn't come easily to everyone."

Suddenly I'm more concerned with my own brother punching me than Donnie. Although once I offer him my drink, he seems to accept the peace offering. Once we've rejoined the gang, Elena tries to tempt us all into polite conversation, as she tries desperately to force us all to like each other. Eventually the polite chit chat is more than I can take and I speak up. "Alright, by a raise of hands who was coerced/encouraged to display a sunny disposition because Elena asked you to?" No one's hand shoots in the air, but I can tell as all the eyes shift towards Elena that the answer is all of them.

"Just because I might've given everyone a little nudge towards civility doesn't mean that they hate you," Elena argues her point defiantly.

"Really well let's put that to the test shall we," I point my first finger towards Matt who is situated next to Elena on my left. "Turned your sister into a vampire, and now she's dead," I recount coldly. Matt is left incensed, and is clenching his fist underneath the table. Caroline is my next unsuspecting target. "I seduced you, used you, and would've killed you if Stefan hadn't have dosed you with vervain." Blondie fiddles with her fork, likely contemplating stabbing me with it. Judgy is next, and this should be a cake walk since she could probably recite her numerous reasons for despising me on command. "I turned your mother and I'm the reason Grandma Judgy is dead. I'm sure if it wasn't for Elena you would've taken me out years ago," I guess correctly based off Bonnie's look of disdain. "And Jeremy, poor, lost, little brother, remember the time I snapped you neck because I was having a no good very bad day?" Jeremy shares a sympathetic glance with his sister. Even if by some miracle Jeremy could forget that night, God knows Elena never would.

"Enough," Elena scolds, loud enough to be heard by the table next to us.

"You're wasting your time," Caroline warns. "This thing that you're doing, trying to piss us all off to prove a point, it's exactly what Elena said you'd do. I speak for everyone when I say that it isn't going to work."

Caroline's point is mildly diminished when Judgy throws her drink in my face. "Okay well maybe it worked a little," Caroline concedes, "But only on Bonnie."

"Damon . . ."

"Damon . . ."

Both girls fight to speak at once, each trying to take charge of the conversation. It doesn't take a psychic to see how this power struggle will end. Caroline holds her hands up in a stopping motion that mutes Elena's next words. "I've got this Elena," Blondie assures her skeptical friend. "You know how much I always wanted to be one of those TV personalities that tell people what to do. This is my chance." Caroline's pleading eyes might not do anything for me personally, but they clearly have a profound effect on Elena, and my brother it seems, because I swear he's about to offer her the moon.

"Oh, fine," Elena relents, "But if you make this worse, I'll break out your 7th grade class picture, you know the one with the big pimple in the middle of your forehead."

"You wouldn't dare?" Caroline asks in horror.

"Oh, I would, but if you think you can do a better job, then by all means," Elena dares, her diabolical smile in full view.

Never one to back down, Caroline accepts the challenge immediately. "So," Blondie begins as she turns to face me with her best bubbly smile. "You're sort of an ass and can be sporadically evil," Caroline starts, coming out swinging with her opening statement.

"How is this helpful?" Elena cuts in, concerned that her friend is about to unravel all of her hard work.

"I've got this," Caroline repeats, frustrated at the lack of faith in her magical powers of persuasion. "We all know who you are and what you've done," Blondie elaborates. "But we're all still here putting on our happy faces because Elena asked us to. She's our friend and we all love her, so if that means spending more time with you to ensure Elena's happiness then so be it. I am just that good of a friend," Caroline states, proud of her noble sacrifice of actually hanging out with me.

When I don't fall at her feet with gratitude, Caroline pulls out her last argument, and it appears as if she's pulling her own teeth as she says it. "You may walk a fine line between bad boy hero and jackass, but I don't actually hate you," Blondie confesses to my utter shock.

"You're not saying that you actually like me are you?" I question cautiously, unsure whether I approve of having the hyperactive cheerleader as one of my friends. I have a strict criterion when it comes to choosing friends. I mean she doesn't even drink bourbon for God sakes. A man has standards. Blondie's sudden and fervent rebuttal quiets my concerns.

"God no," Caroline exclaims disgustedly. "How could you even say that? We are not friends. I mean you do keep life interesting, and I might occasionally find you funny, and maybe I'm a tiny bit grateful for the time you saved me from Klaus' sacrifice, but we are obviously not friends. Now where was I," Caroline refocuses after minor panic attack at the idea that she's my friend.

"I think you were trying to convince Damon that we don't all hate him," the quarterback states, offering his two cents. "And if I'm being honest, I don't either." My questioning glare spurs Matt on further as the quarterback says more to me than all the other times we've spoken combined. "You were a dick bringing up my sister like that," Matt angrily exclaims, "and I can't speak for everybody else, but I'm here because as crappy as you treat me I still owe you. You're the reason that Elena's alive, and after saving me from Kol, you're the reason that I'm alive too. So no, I don't hate you, but I wouldn't expect a Christmas card either."

Apparently Caroline has decided to Bonnie is next in this little forced exercise, because I can see her kicking judgy under the table. With near Herculean effort, Bonnie decides to talk to me, under extreme duress. "I don't really like you," Bonnie admits truthfully. "I might still throw another drink in your face if it amuses me," she pauses and barely mumbles the next statement, "but I guess I sort of owe you too for saving my life after Alaric fed on me at the graveyard."

The smirk on my face after Bonnie thanks me for saving her seems to set the witch's blood boiling. "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't catch that," I state, as I hold my hand up to my ear so as to hear her confession as loudly as possible.

"Don't push it," Bonnie cautions, as I try to tell myself she isn't imagining blowing up my head with her mind. As we're all laughing at Judgy's rather comedic tolerance of my presence, all eyes shift towards the previously silent member of the group.

"Don't I get a turn?" Stefan asks meekly, clearly unsure whether he really wants to be here.

"A turn at what?" I question, confused at why he would willing put himself in the hot seat.

"We're all going around the table and saying why we're grateful to you. I figure if this is your own personal Thanksgiving ceremony I might as well say something."

Dead silence fills the table, because we're all thinking the same thing. He doesn't owe me any gratitude or thanks. If Elena's telling the truth, then I'm the reason for their breakup. That feeling of guilt that people are always telling me about makes a harsh and crushing appearance. My eyes lock with my brothers', and no words are spoken. I shake my head, telling him this is unnecessary, Hell that this is wrong. But Stefan ignores me as per usual, and takes his turn anyway.

"You saved me," Stefan announces simply. "A dozen times this year you saved me, but until recently I would've called us even, because I've saved you too. It's the one constant between us. We can't let each other die, so I'm not grateful for the times you've saved my life. I'm grateful, because despite all the bitterness and animosity between us, you still tried to save my soul. You came for me, when I was lost, when I didn't want anyone's help or pity, and you forced me to fight for my humanity just as Elena helped you fight for your own. So no, brother, I don't hate you either."

"He is ridiculously difficult to hate," Elena adds lightly, somehow wrestling the hosting duties away from Caroline. "Trust me I've tried, very hard." I share a smile with the feisty brunette who seems pretty confident that she's proving her point. "We all have a story," Elena mentions, "most of us more than one, about a time where you saved us, or saved someone that we love. So you can stop with this insane notion that everyone considers you the same soulless monster we all thought you were when you swept into town, because we're not buying it anymore."

"Dude you killed me, and I'm even over the whole hating you thing," Jeremy admits, as he breaks his silence for the first time.

I could be my typical sarcastic self. It is my go to move, but the fact that Jeremy Gilbert of all people is burying the hatchet is enough to give even me pause from my regularly scheduled snarkiness. "Why?" I ask in all seriousness. "Out of everyone at this table, you probably have the most reason to hate me. I killed you. I snapped your neck in cold blood, and you'd be rotting six feet under right now if dear old Uncle John hadn't given you his ring."

Jeremy seems thrown by the question, as if it never occurred to him that he wouldn't forgive me. Elena's loved ones obviously caught whatever crazy illness allows her to forgive mass murderers, because now I think they're all nuts. Although I have to give the kid some credit, he doesn't flinch. He barely even blinks. Little Gilbert is certainly fearless, possibly insane, but definitely fearless.

"I spent a long time after my parents died trying to numb the pain, trying to convince people, convince myself, that nothing mattered anymore. That's what you do," Jeremy observes astutely. "But it's an act, because you're the same guy who showed up in my room on Founder's Day to tell me that Anna was dead. You're the same person who told me you were wrong for turning Vicki. And you were the one person who told me the truth, and didn't treat me like Elena's baby brother, even if it was usually in a dickish kind of way."

Everyone is staring now. That same hopeful look is plastered on all their faces. They want me to break down, accept all this forced kindness, and give Elena the happy ending that the entire table is waiting for. But I can't do it. I don't know how. I've spent too much time wearing the mask of the villain. I'm not sure how to take it off anymore. So I do what I do best when my emotions are becoming too much, I lash out, cruelly at the people around me.

Elena notices the shift in my mood before anyone. I move from disbelief at everyone's words to stone cold indifference. I can see her silently begging me from across the table not to enact whatever self-destructive plan is brewing in my mind. But it's too late for that. My mouth is running a mile a minute before my self-preservational instincts have time to yell at me to shut the Hell up. A dark void takes hold of me. It's the same feeling that precedes every massively fucked up thing I've ever said in my life, and I can tell this one is going to be a doozy.

The first sign of trouble is my inappropriate laughter. There is a bitter sarcastic nature that accompanies the typically joyful action, and when everyone's eyes are on me, I unleash my verbal tornado. "It's kind of funny when you think about it," I comment cynically. "You spent nearly two years trying so desperately to please your dead parents, and the second you become a vampire, you decide fuck it I'll find their worst nightmare and start dating him. Talk about your teenage rebellions."

Well if the gang didn't hate me before, I'm sure they despise me now. As with all the mistakes in my life, I realize just how badly I've screwed up the second the words leave the tip of my tongue. Elena looks physically beaten by a few callous sentences. You'd think she was slapped, kicked, and gutted like a fish by the agonizing pain in her eyes. She runs off towards the bathrooms and Blondie follows after her. I'm left with what appears to be a firing squad taking aim at my head. I peer over at my brother, who seems just as ready to murder me as everyone else and I confess, "I think I screwed up." No words are needed to confirm my suspicions, because we both know I've gone too far this time. I finally got her to walk away and I've never hated myself more.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	18. Chapter 18

**Okay after finishing this chapter, I am really happy that I didn't continue it last time and combine chapters 17 and 18, because I firmly believe these were meant to be two chapters. FYI for anyone who I might have promised a lighter chapter to, I sort of lied. This chapter is incredibly heavy, sorry. I should also mention that I change POVs part way through the story. It should be pretty obvious when it happens.**

**A big thank you to Cher Sue for her constant help with this story. Sorry I changed it up on you. Think of it as a surprise, granted a slightly evil surprise, but a surprise. I look forward to your ranting.**

**And to everyone else, I look forward to your ranting too. Your reviews are so amazing and I love reading them. I hope you all enjoy.**

While I've never been one to take a strong political stance, I understand why governments choose waterboarding as their go to method of torture. There isn't anything quite like the excruciating feeling of gasping for air and fearing that it might never come. It's enough to inspire a renewed sense of sympathy for asthmatics. I've only encountered this feeling once in my short life, on the night my parents' car veered off of Wickery Bridge. While I naively thought that those days were long behind me after I became a vampire, the painful heaving of my tortured breath reminds me that immortality does not guarantee infallibility. I'm a vampire for God sakes, a feared creature of the night, the stuff of legends and poorly acted movies, and I'm in the middle of a panic attack.

Caroline is at my side offering me every conceivable solution including, a glass of water, a paper bag, or my pick of the hottest guys at the bar to snack on/have my way with depending on which option tickles my fancy. Normally I'd find Caroline's attempts to cheer me up endearing and hysterical, but as I struggle for my next unnecessary breath, all I can focus on is not dying, because that's what this feels like, death. My rational brain reminds me that few things in this world can truly hurt me, but as I gaze across the Grille at the man who is capable of destroying me and fixing me, loving me and hating me, I'm reminded that not even a vampire is safe from a broken heart.

I took him to visit my parents' graves, something I had never done with anyone, not Matt, not Stefan, only Damon. Then he goes and uses that memory, that moment, as an excuse not to be with me. I don't need a reminder of what a colossal disappointment I must be to my parents. I got that memo loud and clear right around the time I started dating my first vampire or worse becoming one myself. It's a defense mechanism. It's his screwed up way of protecting himself. I know all of this, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

Just as I'm relearning the difficult task of inhaling and exhaling calmly, an unwelcome intruder interrupts my private freak out with my best friend. "Oh God what have you done now?" The brazen teenager questions disapprovingly, and I instantly regret the missed opportunity this week to rip into her jugular. Damn, well I guess I'll just have to add not killing April Young to my ever expanding list of life regrets.

Caroline picks up on my blind hatred of the unknown stranger and she goes full on mama bear on her next unsuspecting victim. I am barely containing my inner glee at the verbal smack down that the high school's queen bee is famous for. "I'm sorry who are you?" Caroline snaps at my new town nemesis, "And what gives you the right to judge my friend, especially wearing those hideous shoes?"

April composes herself quickly, not even batting an eyelash at the blatant insult of her fashion sense. She breaks out in a big smile, as she seems to enjoy my blind fury at her continued existence. "How rude of me, my name is April, April Young. I'm sure you don't remember but we used to be friends before I moved away." As April travels down memory lane, I ponder the sharpness of the Grille's steak knife collection. Sadly once April reveals her true identity, Caroline is squealing and hugging her like she was the long lost sister that she never had.

"Oh my God, April," Caroline shrieks excitedly, "I thought you were permanently exiled to some nowhere boarding school where you were forced to wear long skirts and keep your hair up in a bun. So sorry about the shoe remark. I didn't mean it. Your shoes are . . . cute," Caroline finally remarks, unable to lie effectively when it comes to the proper wardrobe. April shoots her a disbelieving stare, but hugs Caroline right back.

"I've known you too long to believe a line like that," April responds, "but you don't have to worry. You're forgiven. I've missed out on a lot of fashion trends without my trusty clothes consultant. BTW, you do get that I was at boarding school and not living with a conservative family in Amish country? Our uniforms were more Britney Spears video than after school special attire."

Both girls are giggling like they're still 12 years old and braiding each other's hair at sleep away camp. This is wrong. April has been back in town for less than a week and already she has my best friend on her side. Wasn't it enough that she felt up Damon? He's in love with me, and I've barely gotten a chance to get my grope on. It seems unfair in some cosmic way. Before I realize it, my inner monologue is voiced aloud, finally getting the attention of the two giggling teens at my side.

"This cannot be happening right now," I announce, miffed at the sudden change of Caroline's attitude. "What happened to we hate her, solidarity and all that?" Caroline stares at me puzzled for a second before replying

"Yeah, why are we mad at her again?" My fabulous friend questions, as she develops amnesia about April's rather rude entrance into our conversation. Never one to miss a chance to jump in on my private conversations, the ballsy newcomer chimes in.

"Oh, she's just a little peeved that I drunkenly pursued her boyfriend," April asserts cavalierly. "I don't see what the big deal is I was a little too looped on the liquor the other night to think clearly. I'm sure I would've convinced Donnie to come home with me if he was the one within my drunken fun zone." Just as I'm about to forgive/at least tolerate April's presence, she adds fuel to my hatred. "It certainly doesn't hurt that Damon is some delicious eye candy, and it is worth mentioning that it was an _ALL GIRLS _boarding school. I might as well have just gotten out of prison."

"Enough," I shout dramatically, wanting to erase all images crowding my brain of her and Damon.

"I cannot agree more," Caroline forcefully seconds my sentiments. "Seriously, do none of my friends have decent taste in the male species?" Both April and I glare at Caroline for her judgment of our attachment to Damon, which of course my dear best friend ignores and turns her sights back on April. "And your drunken mistakes aside, why jump down Elena's throat the second that you two cross paths? I know that she looks like a little twig, but she's tougher than her pint size frame suggests. I would totally bet on her in a street fight."

I'm beaming at Caroline's defense of my abilities. I could absolutely kick April's ass up one side and down the other. I feel empowered at this knowledge. Sadly April doesn't take Caroline's warning to heart, and makes the unfortunate choice of speaking again. Who needs knives when you have fangs, I think to myself as I plot the various entry points I could start biting from.

"Well it might have something to do with her throwing me from Damon's car like I was an uninvited stowaway," April states with a fair amount of contempt, "or it could be due to the fact that I spent the entire night listening to Damon recount the numerous stories of how you broke his heart."

I'm seething as I attempt to hold myself back from wiping out the remaining member of the Young family. "You have no right," I scream loudly, ready to disembowel the brash teenager. "What goes on between Damon and I is none of your business."

The stupid idiot, with apparently no self-preservational instincts gets right up in my face, practically daring me to reenact our little throw down the other night. "Yes it is, because he hasn't got anyone else."

"He has me!" I shout right back. April takes a step back, practically snickering at the idea, as I try to remember the consequences for public murder.

"Fine, no one impartial," April clarifies. "You're trying to fight for him. I'm trying to stand up for him. So you'll forgive me if our priorities might not always be in sync."

This girl has some nerve, talking like she knows him, like they're friends. I've been here every day, suffered through every argument, endured every blow up, and she has the nerve to tell me how to treat him.

"He's some guy you met in a bar while you were drunk out of your mind," I scold bitterly. "Why do you care so much if he has a champion?" Her fiery temper tones down just a bit at my question/accusation. For a second she almost appears haunted by some unseen ghost of years long past, and I feel one iota of sympathy for her. It's fleeting and small, but it's still there. Apparently my empathetic side was amplified as well, so I'm stuck feeling sorry for people that I loathe. Her quiet tone is so different from our previous interactions that it throws me a little at first.

"Five minutes was all it took for me to want to be his friend," April explains warmly. "I know what it's like to be rejected by someone who's supposed to love you, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

My stupid empathy is making a reappearance, and I try to bash it down, because I'm cool with hating her. I don't want feeling sorry for her to get in the way of that.

"She does have a point," Caroline surprising claims as she reasserts herself in between the imminent fight. Apparently Judas has been reincarnated as my blonde best friend, and I scowl in disapproval.

"Traitor!" I accuse angrily. "Whose side are you on?" Caroline fixes me with her best friendship smile, and I struggle not to succumb.

"Yours," Caroline states lovingly, "always yours, which is why I'm a good enough friend not to lie to you. April's right. As much as I'd like to punch Damon in his pretty, pretty face for hurting you, he's hurting too. From what you've told me, Damon's rejected you more than once during this week, but I also know that it pales in comparison to how you've rejected him in the past. He's lashing out. He's being Damon, but he's doing it out of fear. So if you still want to reach him, show him that you still care, that no matter how many times he pushes you away, you'll be there to push right back. Sacrifice yourself on the altar of dignity to even the score."

Her last bit of advice is given with a dramatic gusto that you'd think she was performing for an audience.

"Did you just quote _10 Things I Hate About You_ to me?" I question my theatrically inclined friend.

"Well it's not my fault that one of the greatest romantic comedies of our generation happens to be apropos at this moment," Caroline defends her choice fiercely. "It must be fate." I smile reluctantly at her suggestion, and turn back towards our annoying third wheel.

"I'm sure little miss interloper has an opinion on the subject," I offer generously, "so let's hear it, but before you speak, remember that my fangs are brand new. They haven't been subjected to any pesky wear and tear from old age. Just something to consider," I suggest with a hint of warning in my voice. Caroline steps directly between us with a gentle nudge requesting that I back up.

"Okay I know the vampire thing can make you a little testy, but what is with the threats of violence?" Caroline questions, concerned about the outcome of my mood swings.

"I think they call it being territorial," April replies, trying to fit in one more dig.

"I think they call it protecting what's _mine_," I correct in a near growl. Unfazed by my aggression, April continues prattling on.

"And we're back to that word again," April mentions, frustrated at my possessiveness. "Seriously if Damon wants to trust you again after _everything_ that you've done, that's his prerogative. But he's a good person who deserves much better than how he's been treated, so if you want him, you sure as Hell better earn it." I'm taken aback at her blunt advice, because as much as I might want to use April as a fun way to break that rule about not playing with your food, she isn't wrong. I said that I'd prove my love, regardless of Damon's antics, and if his rather cutting remarks are any indication, he remains unconvinced.

"Fine," I mumble in the closest that I can come to forced politeness. "Why don't you join Damon at our table over there." I motion towards the back where Stefan and Damon seemed locked in an intense exchange.

"What," Caroline and April both exclaim at the same time.

"I thought you'd appreciate a front row seat," I explain plainly, not at all thrown by their blatant confusion.

"To what?" April asks, perplexed by my mysterious change of attitude.

"To me earning it," I elaborate boldly, as April looks on with begrudging acceptance. Caroline is just about to follow her back to the table, when she stops and turns around.

"Just so we're clear, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate April?"

"I'd say a solid twelve," I admit honestly, which is a big step up from the fifteen she was at earlier in the week.

"Then why did you invite her to hang out with us?" Caroline asks gently, wondering if this is some sort of battle strategy, or if she will be asked to pour pig's blood on April's head at a later date.

"I invited her, because she was right," I admit uneasily, "Damon could use a friend. I would prefer if he found less hot, less slutty friends, but apparently beggars can't be choosers." Caroline doesn't even reprimand me for insulting her old pal, so I can at least pretend she shares in my hatred.

"So what are you going to do?" Caroline asks, unclear what exactly my surprise plan is, and probably wondering whether she can be project manager.

"I'm taking a page out of your much beloved _10 Things I Hate About You_ playbook," I confess, as I await Caroline's giddy reaction.

"You're not talking about?"

"Yep," I answer immediately. Caroline's eyes grow to twice their normal size at the news.

"Oh, God I need to film this," Caroline claims enthusiastically. "All I have is my phone with its crappy megapixel quality. Where is a film crew when you need one?" She is in full on prep mode, and I'm a big enough person to admit that I'm sort of frightened.

"So now my humiliation will be recorded in film for the sake of posterity," I restate with a strong feeling of dread. Caroline grabs my shoulders and takes a short break from her planning to calm me down.

"Just remember that you're doing this for Damon," Caroline suggests, "and that as your friend, I'm willing to laugh at you 50 to 55 percent less than I would for a stranger."

"Well I appreciate your generous discount," I sarcastically reply, although Caroline is oblivious to the insincerity of my words.

"What are friends for?" She remarks happily. "Just remember . . ."

"For Damon," I finish automatically, trying to ingrain the thought into my brain, so I can summon the courage to thoroughly embarrass myself.

For Damon is the last thought that I have as I'm taking the stage in front of my friends, my family, and the whole freaking town.

* * *

(_A few minutes earlier_)

So I'm a dick. Everyone knew this already. I'm sure there have been meetings to vote on and approve my title as town asshole. The only way it could be more official is if I tattooed the word dick on my forehead. Luckily I have far too much respect for my face to mutilate it with permanent ink, but I think the point gets across either way. Which is why I was surprised at how shocked everyone was when I earned my self-assessed title. My brother of all people who once said I never did anything for anyone but myself, seems the most stunned by my cutting and cruel words to the girl we both have loved.

Within seconds of Elena's storm out, and my rather obvious summation that I had screwed up, Stefan has grabbed me by the collar and pulled me roughly in front of his face. "What in the Hell is wrong with you?" Stefan asks, livid at my recent behavior.

"Look I'm sorry I upset your little girlfriend," I deflect callously, "It was unintentional, or unavoidable, either way, I just couldn't take more of this fake love fest."

"Why are you deliberately screwing this up?" Stefan asks, entirely disregarding my attempts to gloss over my outburst. "She loves you, she wants you, and she needs you. You have everything you ever wanted, and you are either too blind or too scared to just enjoy it."

"You're treading on dangerous ground little brother," I caution with an edge of anger in my voice.

"You always do this," Stefan asserts, judgmentally enough to make me want to take a swing at him. "It was easy chasing her when you didn't think you stood a chance in Hell, but now that's its real, you're the one that's running."

"Contrary to your Dr. Philesque analysis, I AM NOT AFRAID," I nearly yell in my brother's ear. Apparently I've lost my touch, because he appears unaffected by my rather loud eruption.

"Yes you are," Stefan counters fearlessly, "But you don't have to be. She's not dad. She's not Katherine, and she's not even like me. You say you're not scared, but you've been hiding from her, hiding from the good I know is still inside of you, because you are so terrified that if you give yourself to someone and they can't accept you that you'll never survive it. You're afraid, because her opinion is the one that matters most, but you keep pushing her away, keep trying to make her hate you. And as your brother, as someone who does care about you, I'm asking you to just STOP. For your sake, for hers, just stop already, or you will end up all alone with only yourself to blame."

This earns my well-meaning brother one hard sock in the jaw. As he's nursing his recent wound, I sit back down and chug another glass of alcohol down my throat, and try to ignore the judgy stares from Elena's friends who bore witness to Stefan and I's family meeting. "And here I thought tough love was only going to hurt you," Stefan jokes as he swipes my glass right out from under me and drinks the remaining contents in one gulp. I shrug, figuring the loss of my precious bourbon is my penance for unnecessarily punching my baby bro.

We all sit in an uncomfortable silence as I ponder my next move, and how I'm going to make this up to Elena. Just as I'm about to go after her, I feel a distinct tapping on my shoulder. "Hey stranger, didn't think I'd see you again without your girl breaking a few of my bones," April states kiddingly. Although I suspect there is a certain amount of truth behind the humor, Elena can be one scary badass when she wants to be.

"So why risk it?" I ask lightly, surprised that anyone would be willing to incur Elena's wrath without the protection of immortality.

"It was actually her idea," April explains suspiciously. I look around to ensure Elena hasn't set any booby traps meant to trap/torture/kill the town's newest resident.

Before I push the subject any further, Blondie shows up with her smart phone pointed toward the Grille's staging area. It is where bands play, and occasionally the unfortunate karaoke night that I typically steer clear of. To my shock, I see Elena timidly climbing up the steps with what appears to be a microphone. She taps the tip of the sound device, and the entire Grille falls silent, all entranced by what is going on up on stage.

"I've never done anything like this before," Elena confesses shyly. "But from what I've seen of love, it's something that must be fought for, even when, especially when, the other person isn't ready to fight for you. So I dedicate this song to Damon Salvatore. I hope this gets the message across. I don't scare so easy."

And with that, the girl I love begins to serenade me, in a crowd filled with every significant person in her life, and half of Mystic Falls' population. If she wanted to make a statement, Elena definitely succeeded. I think I can cross off one concern from my list. She is _not_ embarrassed to be seen with me. The only thing more public would be if she'd taken out an ad in the newspaper proclaiming her eternal love for me. For all I know, that is step two. As I break out of my dumbstruck shock, I actually listen to the lyrics in awe.

_It doesn't take much to learn  
when the bridges that you burn  
Leave you stranded feeling alone  
It doesn't take much to cry  
when you're living in a lie  
And deceiving that someone who cares  
If I could turn back the time  
I would put you first in my life _

She picked this song for me, for us. Her deliberate choice of music has the intended effect, and I feel like a love-struck puppy once more. I'm not ashamed to admit that I feel enthralled with every off key sound coming from her perfect mouth. I unconsciously move closer to the stage as the words of this love song pull me in more and more by the second.

_And I would risk it all for you  
to prove my love is true  
I'll build a wall around my heart  
that would only break a part for you  
Can change the way I feel  
so tell me what's the deal  
Don't say  
Don't say it's too late _

I want to rush onto the stage and whisper in her ear that it could never be too late. Isn't that the benefit of eternity? You literally have forever. Too late is a uniquely human concept that I only sparingly understood over the centuries. But instead of making the bold gesture, I stand paralyzed in front of this amazing woman who looks like a goddess in skinny jeans and a t-shirt.

_And now  
The hills are getting hard to climb  
I'm runnin' out of time  
My decisions are pending on you  
And I will accept the blame  
for burnin' out the flame  
Hoping the story will twist once again  
If I could turn back the time  
I would put you first in my life _

The words cease to matter after the first couple minutes. The gesture is all that I'll remember as I imprint this memory into long term storage for future replaying. The rest of the song passes in a haze, as I maintain an admittedly goofy smile on my face. Elena is too focused on finishing the song without fainting that her eyes never stray from the fixed spot in the back of the room. After I hear the last _don't say it's too late_, I prepare to rush up onto the stage and give the crowd a rather epic movie worthy kiss. She did win the bet after all, so Elena is entitled a kiss from yours truly. I wouldn't want to be accused of not being fair. But before the crowd even has time to start a decent applause, she's gone. I catch sight of her as she disappears out the back exit. By the time I reach the doors, Elena is nowhere in sight.

Did she have a change of heart? Was my latest act of stupidity a step too far? All these thoughts keep rushing through my head as I continue my frantic search for her. I quickly rule out all the obvious places, like her house or Caroline or Bonnie's places. Finally I head home in an attempt to regroup before I scale a full on search party. I can always lie about her age, say she's a minor and issue an Amber alert. It'll be damn hard for Elena to run away when the state troopers are out searching for her.

As I open the door to my room, I see Elena casually perched on my bed, playing with Po's ears absentmindedly. For a minute, all I do is stare, because I'm scared that if I breathe or speak, that Elena will just be a mirage and vanish before my eyes. Although I doubt a mirage would be near tears holding my stuffed hippo. Even my imagination can't make that stuff up. Once Elena registers my presence, she smiles sadly without another word or greeting.

"I thought you left me," I acknowledge petrified of even the thought, despite threatening to leave her for the better part of a week.

She gapes at me in confusion. "If I didn't know better I'd think you almost sound disappointed."

"Of course I am, I never wanted you to go," I confess honestly, with more vulnerability on display than I'm comfortable with.

"No, you just want to be the one to do the leaving," Elena accuses, upset by my unexplainable contradiction.

"Listen about what I said, I'm sorry. I'm breaking my rule about apologizing for things I've said. Usually a body bag or a shallow grave is involved before you get the courtesy of a Damon Salvatore apology."

Elena scoffs at my actual policy on apologizing. "Don't be sorry," Elena resignedly requests. "There's really no point."

"But you're upset," I profess determinedly, not understanding why Elena isn't kissing me or yelling at me. It's the in between that confuses me.

"I am," she confesses freely, "But it doesn't matter anymore, because I finally figured it out."

"Figured what out?" I ask curiously, uncertain whether my next step would land me in metaphorical quick sand. Her voice quivers, and I'm certain that I've finally broken her as she admits her worst fears with tremendous difficulty.

"You don't want me, this, us," Elena declares despairingly. "I was standing up on that stage, making an idiot of myself, and I had this moment of perfect clarity. I've done everything that I know how to do, and it isn't enough. And it's not because you didn't try or I didn't try. I finally realized that it's because you CAN'T. I'm asking too much of you, and it isn't fair."

"What are you talking about?" I question in a state of bizarre misunderstanding. "I pursued you. I told you I loved you first. In what universe do I not want this?" I ask in the beginning stages of frustration and annoyance.

"I'm not saying you never did," Elena clarifies, as her own frustration level rises.

"Than what are you saying?" I ask, further perplexed by her crazier than usual talk.

"I'm saying that my father was a doctor," Elena brings up randomly, "so I have a thorough understanding of how something can be damaged beyond repair, how sometimes there's too much scar tissue for anything to grow on."

This is exactly what I feared the whole time. I saw this coming. I practically could have choreographed the scenes and written the whole damn play. I prepare myself for the inevitable and wrap my heart in solid steel before responding. "So you finally accepted what I've been trying to tell you for days," I summarize bitterly. "Turns out there's someone out there even Elena Gilbert can't fix."

"What the Hell do you mean by that?" Elena questions, unsure where this conversation is headed.

"Your little metaphor about scar tissue," I remind her, "I'm the damaged limb in your rather figurative rejection. You think I'm too fucked up to love anyone anymore."

Elena's face scrunches together so tightly, I'm sure the old adage will prove true, and it really will stay like that forever. Her sympathy, her gentleness, just her, is on full display in front of my eyes, and I fight not to give into it. "You're not the scar tissue," Elena assures me genuinely. I don't quite believe her, but I don't interrupt whatever she clearly needs to get off her chest either. "We're the scar tissue," Elena elaborates. "The two of us together have too much baggage. I know you could have done this, the whole boyfriend thing, the whole forever thing. I believe that you're still capable of that. Your greatest strength is and will always be your capacity to love, and no one, not Katherine, not your father, and not even I can take that from you. But I waited too long, and I missed my moment. And somewhere in between picking Stefan for the first and the second time, you gave up on us. I would fight for you, every day for the rest of eternity if I thought it would bring you back to me, but I need to accept that it won't, because it's not just me that's being hurt, it's you too. I'm hurting you. I see it every time you turn me down. It tears you up inside. You can't trust me, but you can't stop loving me, and the pain that this is causing you is something that I cannot bear, which is why I have to let you go."

Elena's silent tears sting worse than a lifetime's worth of vervain, and I don't even hesitate to pull her into my arms, cradling her as she mourns the loss of me, of us, or of everything she never got a chance to cry over. I place reassuring kisses on her forehead as I cling as tightly as Elena's body can comfortably allow. At first Elena's words sound like unintelligible mumbling, but once she pulls away from the comfort of my chest, I can hear them as clear as a bell. "The spell's been lifted," Elena informs me miserably.

Unable to process the news that I'm finally free, I nod along, letting her know that I'm at least still listening. This is what I wanted. This is what I asked for, but right now I swear I feel worse than she does. But she's right, I convince myself, its better this way. All my reasons are still reasons, and sometimes love, even great love isn't enough. "So I can leave," I state with a weary acceptance, uncertain how I manage to say the words aloud.

"No," Elena quickly corrects. "You're not leaving," she persistently commands. And here I thought her mood swings had passed.

"But I thought you were letting me go," I restate, confused by her sudden turn around.

"I am, but you're not abandoning your brother just because of me. I won't allow it."

"So your solution is that we just both stay trapped in this town together, but not together as we continue this tortured pining thing so Stefan and I can what play football and darts and reminisce about the yesteryears before smart phones and electricity?"

"No," Elena corrects me again. "I'm leaving," Elena announces gloomily, clearly not thrilled at the prospect.

"I can't allow that either," I speak up quickly. My resolve is stronger than oak, and I'm not budging. "You have friends, a brother, a whole life in this town, and you're not leaving, not because of me."

"I have to," Elena swears. Her right hand caresses my cheek in an act of bittersweet tenderness. "If I don't we'll both be stuck, unable to be together, and unable to stay away. The pain will crush us both until there's nothing left. You once told me that you wanted me to find everything I want from life, well that is what I wish for you. I want you to find love and happiness and joy, even if it's not with me. I've never wanted anything more. So I'll go and travel, see the whole world, maybe visit Australia for a while, and wrestle some Tasmanian devils of my own."

"You'd look pretty sexy in cargo pants and a tank top as you put your fist through your first charging Tasmanian devil," I comment supportively. "I should probably mention that they are in fact not like the cartoon," I confess honestly, and her face only drops a little at the loss of the childhood delusion. After she laughs briefly at my attempt at levity, I hold her a little tighter and whisper in her ear. "I lost that bet," I remind her softly, "somehow you convinced your friends not to hate me. I'm no welcher," I promise truthfully as I hold up the Boy Scout sign.

She merely gazes up at me and smiles. "Damon Salvatore, are you saying you want to kiss me?" She asks jokingly, happier than I've seen her this whole miserable day, and I can't help but lose myself to the moment.

"If that's okay," I ask permission, unsure whether I'm crossing any boundaries. Elena quiets this assumption as she graciously grants my request and leans closer to my lips. I make the final move, because I am supposed to be kissing _her_ after all. With one touch of her soft, yet demanding lips I'm lost. The sweet tender caress of our mouths lasts for all of three seconds. After that all bets are off, and we're practically devouring each other. The friction created by our constantly moving bodies is enough to light my skin on fire. I switch between kissing her succulent mouth to leaving hickies all down her neck as she moans unashamedly into the nape of my own neck. I make quick order of removing her clothes as she kindly helps me remove my jeans. Once she is naked below me, all I can do is stare, like a teenage virgin going all the way for the first time. Luckily, I'm not the only one starring, and Elena's blatant ogling of my naked form, earns her a cocky smirk.

After that, the particulars were all a bit of a blur. I don't remember who touched what where or even how long it took for me to tire of teasing her before I joined us both as one. The only memory that sticks out in the haze of truly spectacular sex is the look of adoration in her eyes before, during, and after. It wasn't lusty want or friendly appreciation, but genuine devotion. After never having seen such an expression on any of the women in my life, I can tell the difference. That one look tells me that this was more than just sex. This was the always clichéd term making love, and not just for me, but for her too. As I settle in for the night, cuddling her to my chest of all things, I whisper softly against the tip of her head. "I love you so much and that will never change," I swear wholeheartedly. My chest entirely consumed with feelings of love and rainbows and puppies. And I don't even care how sappy I sound, that's how far gone I am.

She sighs contentedly against me and replies, "No matter how long I may live, or what I may do from this point on, I will love you forever. You are my always." A lone, manly tear falls down my face as I hug her form a little tighter before drifting off to peaceful night's sleep.

When I awake, I expect to find the stubborn brunette sleeping on my chest, but all I see is a note left on her pillow, waiting for me to open it. I tentatively pick up the mysterious paper and read the small note with the few words Elena left me with before disappearing from my bed.

_You are the love of my life Damon Salvatore. Thank you for last night. It was the perfect way to say goodbye._

My hands shake as I read those three short sentences. Goodbye, I repeat in my head, horrified at one word's meaning. No, this was wrong. Last night I thought she understood. I believed her. I wanted her. She loves me. Finally someone really loves me. All my stupid, idiotic reasons and excuses for pushing her away don't mean a damn thing, because she's gone, and I have to get her back.

**As Always Read and Review. I also apologize for having an evil ending again. What can I say, it's all that I know. Also sorry that I had to leave out a lot of the details of the smut, but this is a T rated story after all, so I had to keep that in mind. Just for reference, the song is called Don't Say It's Too Late by Westlife**


	19. Chapter 19

**Okay I suck. I mean I beyond suck, because I know it has been like two weeks since I last updated. I am so sorry. Last weekend I was celebrating my mom's bday, and it didn't leave much time for writing. I do hope this chapter lives up to the anticipation I've built. I should mention that this story is nearing its end. I have one more regular chapter and then an epilogue. This has been a fun ride, but I'm looking forward to moving on, hopefully writing something shorter, because that worked out so well the last time I said that. **

**Anyways, a big thanks goes out to my sounding board Cher Sue for her magical powers in making this story better, and a big thanks to all my reviewers who have stuck with me throughout this crazy process, and to the new ones as well. Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy.**

I never put much stock in the idea of a higher power. You make your own luck and write your own destiny. Any belief to the contrary is wishful thinking meant to alleviate the remorse of the guilty and coddle the fears of the weak. I truly believed that . . . until I woke up this morning to a piece of paper instead of the brown eyed beauty previously sleeping naked in my bed. After over a century and a half I'm convinced, there is a God, because only an omniscient power with a particularly warped sense of humor could orchestrate this clusterfuck.

I mean surely someone must be screwing with me. How else would you explain my centuries' old quest for love and acceptance finally being realized only to lose said girl because of a flaw in my stellar communication skills? I'm a man damn it. I don't write sonnets or engage in never-ending conversations about my feelings. I let my actions speak for themselves. I don't cuddle with just anyone. Post-sex spooning was meant to send a clear message. That message was meant to say let's continue this new tradition of late night declarations and hot sex until one of us dies or those crack pots preaching about the end of the world finally get lucky, whichever comes first. Seriously, how did she miss that?

Now I'm left sitting on an empty bed, clutching a stuffed hippo, whose painfully familiar eyes only serve to cut deeper wounds into my recently rediscovered heart. As a man of action, the pathetic wallowing lasts for a perfectly acceptable 3 ½ minutes, then I devise a plan. It is only early afternoon, and its possible Elena's well intentioned migration from Mystic Falls hasn't even happened yet. Knowing her, the tearful goodbyes alone could take a week, to say nothing of packing and travel plans. I was obviously worrying over nothing . . . but just in case, I should find her _now_.

I hit all the usual suspects first, and come up empty. When I get around to checking the local watering hole, Elena is nowhere in sight. Her blonde bestie however is tossing back the alcohol like prohibition is in for a comeback. She's seated next to the town's most recent returnee, April Young, who almost became Vampire Kibble & Bits for having the audacity to come on to me. I reminisce about the sight of a snarling Elena throwing April from the car, and possessively growling, "Mine." What a shame I was too pissed off at the time to appreciate how truly hot Elena looked all feral and territorial. I should've dragged her home right then or just had my way with her on the hood of my car. Missed opportunities suck, which is why I'm not going to add any more to the growing list. In a rather heroic sacrifice on my part, I decide to make nice with Blondie in hopes of locating her better half in the girl's bff relationship. Unfortunately Goldilocks appears about as willing to help me as she would be to give up her precious shoe collection or take a vow of silence. "Well if isn't Sergeant Dumbass," Caroline slurs clumsily. "That is my new name for you FYI. It seems fitting given how you stupidly chased away the love of your life AND my best friend in one fell swoop."

Just my luck, Blondie is about 4 tequila shots shy of being sober or even the least bit useful. Bypassing the blonde's judgment about my recent stupidity, I prepare to focus on my mission in coming here, until the always opinionated April joins the discussion. "Lay off him Caroline," April orders, rising protectively to my defense. "If Elena wanted to give up on him _again,_ that is her choice. No one forced her to leave." I'm sure April expects an appreciative smile or another round of buddy drinking, but her characterization of Elena _really_ pisses me off.

"ENOUGH," I roar, fiercely defensive of Elena's honor. That one word is all it takes to silence the immediate area. My scolding must've shook April's system pretty hard, because she looks taken aback by my sudden mood swing. Just when I think Blondie is down for the count with all the liquor running through her veins, she transforms in an instant. You've gotta love vampire metabolism.

"It pains me greatly to say this, but Damon's right," Caroline tentatively agrees. "You have no idea what you're talking about," the spunky blonde charges, as she gathers steam fueled with a fiery anger. "Do you know what Elena's been doing this whole week for this brain cell deficient idiot? She bought him a stuffed hippo as a reminder of her love for him. She repeatedly confessed her bizarre devotion to Mr. Emotionally Moronic over here. She took him on a picnic just so she could find out more about him. She introduced him to her dead parents because he was the first man she deemed worthy of such a gift. She orchestrated a group date with friends who should justifiably hate his guts so he could feel like he wouldn't be an outsider once they were together. And quite recently she stood up in a crowd full of people to declare her love through a song that she dedicated in his honor. The only reason Elena left town, was because of some selfless need to protect Sergeant Dumbass from pain. So don't you dare insult my friend, when you don't have the first damn clue what you're talking about," Caroline finishes her dramatic speech with a surprising amount of clarity for someone who a couple of minutes ago couldn't string together a complete sentence without slurring her words.

Fortunately for April's safety from Caroline's future fury, the girl at least has the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry," April confesses sincerely. "I didn't mean. . . I didn't know." The humility and mortification in April's voice softens Blondie's resolve to verbally rip her head off. "I can't believe she did all that for you," April states in disbelief and shame at her faulty assumptions.

"It's partly my fault," I admit, wanting to let the teenager off the hook after being put in her place by Blondie. "We didn't exactly meet when I was at my most stable. I thought Elena was toying with me as she continued her never-ending love fest with my brother. I might've left out a few details."

"A few details," April repeats incredulously. "You told me Elena was either Mother Theresa or the Anti-Christ and you hadn't decided which yet."

"Spoiler alert," I preface my statement dramatically. "I decided on Mother Theresa, but way hotter, and without all the wrinkles," I confidently inform my new irritated friend. With what appears to be great effort, April rolls her eyes and nods.

"So you really think she deserves you?" April questions suspiciously, still unsure whether to trust the good nature of the same vampire who threw her onto the pavement a few nights ago.

"She loves me," I state plainly, "Of course she deserves me. We deserve each other."

As is now a local tradition in this establishment, Caroline's drink spews in the unfortunate direction of our recently reinstated bartender. "Oops, sorry Donnie," Blondie apologizes girlishly, like a kid who broke their parent's favorite vase. "Maybe it's time you ask for another raise," Caroline suggests helpfully.

Donnie pulls out an extra shirt from under the bar, because apparently he was a boy scout in another life, and he really subscribed to the motto of come prepared. After his swift change of clothes, he barely bats an eyelash before addressing the contrite vampire who acted like an alcohol geyser after my little confession. "Way ahead of you, part of my deal in coming back to work is that I get a 5 cent an hour raise every time one of you spits on me, so I suppose I should be thanking you for the supplemental income."

Eager to see the gruff bartender's optimistic attitude, I smile and ask for a drink of my own. "That's the spirit buddy," I congratulate as I toss back my bourbon. "With our alarming drinking to spitting ratio, I think you should start shopping for a summer home. I hear it's a buyer's market right now," I advise, only partly joking.

"Okay enough with the jokes funny man," Caroline screeches in my ear, as if she's forgotten about my super hearing. "Do you mean to tell me that you finally got over your two tons worth of emotional damage, _after_ Elena leaves town?"

"Well if we're being really nitpicky, I figured it out before, but I might've forgotten to tell her," I admit sheepishly.

"YOU FORGOT," Blondie yells, as she resumes her high pitched squawking. "In what universe can you forget something that important?" She asks a fair question with her evil eyes zeroed in on me.

"Well in my defense," I reply cautiously, "she was naked at the time." Caroline rolls her eyes and slaps me upside the head.

"Brain dead, Sergeant Dumbass," she grumbles to herself. After shooting me a couple more, I'd like to play piñata with your head glares, she becomes useful again. "So what did Elena say when you called her?" Caroline asks expectantly.

At that question, I go mute, for a very uncomfortable three seconds. "Uh, well, you see, I might've forgotten that step too," I confess, embarrassed that it never occurred to me to do something as simple as dial her phone number.

"Has he always been this slow?" I hear April whisper to her old friend.

"Oh, he's usually smarter than this," Blondie states, surprisingly rising to my defense. "It's just when he's got Elena on the brain, it tends to impair his basic reasoning skills."

"Standing right here," I remind the girls, showing mild offense to their assessment of my intelligence.

"Yes, we see you," Caroline responds. "Since seeing Elena naked has apparently permanently fried your brain, I guess I'll be the plan maker from here on out."

"We're doomed," I predict grimly, earning me another bit of Caroline's violent temper. Her hard punch actually hurts, not that I'd ever admit it. I can't have Goldilocks getting a swelled head on my account.

"I am an excellent planner," Blondie swears passionately. "How else do you think this town pulls off a 'special' event once a week? Without me, they'd be relegated to lame celebrations for Thanksgiving and Christmas."

As I remember all the events the young vampire has pulled off since I've known her, I wonder if she isn't the Energizer bunny in disguise. She does wear a lot of pink, and I rarely see her actually sleeping. As I ponder the possibilities that Elena's closest friend is actually a robot powered by batteries, I press the first number on my speed dial and wait rather impatiently for a response. When it goes to voicemail, my shoulders slump and I stare at the phone in defeat. Blondie picks up on my pitiful mood, and proves her own point about being a natural leader.

"What about a spell?" Caroline proposes, since apparently that's how all our problems are solved.

"Not that I'm opposed to any methods for bringing Elena home, but does including Judgy ever work for us?" I ask, doubtfully, as I recall all our epic plan failures that relied on Bonnie's unreliable magic. Caroline shoots another death glare as she fiddles with her phone, in deep concentration.

"Damn it," Caroline curses unexpectedly. "I just texted Bonnie, and her dad dragged her out of town this morning to visit some relatives in east Jesus nowhere, so she's not going to be any help."

"As per usual," I add in unnecessarily. As we're spinning our wheels thinking of new ideas, I'm going out of my mind thinking about how screwed up this all is. Elena should be here with me, preferably in my bed, ideally naked. Although at this point, I'd just settle for _here_. As much as it would pain me, I'd give up ever seeing Elena naked again just to bring her home. Without meaning to, my thoughts become audible before I realize that I'm speaking. "I need her back," I announce to the sympathetic girls around me. April gives me a reassuring pat on my shoulders, and even Caroline looks close to bonding with me. I scooch further away to alleviate the temptation.

"We'll bring her back," April promises that which she can't possibly deliver, but the lie does make me feel better for half a second.

"Bring who back?" Donnie asks nosily, because apparently the only thing you can do as a bartender when there are no drinks to make is to eavesdrop.

"His girl left town," April explains miserably. "She's not picking up her phone, and we're just trying to bring her back."

"What year car does she drive?" Donnie randomly diverts the subject.

"It couldn't be more than a year old," I answer, unsure where he is going with this, but unwilling to turn away any available lead.

"All new cars are enabled with GPS," Donnie rattles off effortlessly, "It's a standard feature in most new models designed to find your car if it is ever stolen. If you have her paperwork from when she bought the car, you should be able to call wherever she purchased it from and request them to enable the tracking device."

And just like that, we have a viable lead. "I could kiss you man," I blurt out jokingly. The jest becomes even funnier when Donnie takes a step back as if I'm actually serious. I'm hurt. I consider myself a very attractive man. Donnie would be lucky to have me. I decide to screw with him a little more as I lean closer, like I'm about to lay one on him. Donnie freezes with a deer in the headlights' look. I pull back at the last second. "I said I could Donnie," I whisper cockily. "But the truth is you're just not my type."

"I think I liked you better when you just spit alcohol in my face," Donnie comments, wary of me now. "Any bromance with you would be majorly weird," he adds, before walking towards the backroom, I assume to reign in his strong feelings of friendship that he's just too scared to admit.

Just as we're about to head over to the car company to compel ourselves some answers, my cellphone lights up on the counter. _It's Elena_. I think to myself as I see the caller ID. Turns out we didn't need any fancy high tech equipment or witchy mojo. She just missed me. I press talk on the phone, prepared to either make some sarcastic remark or make a complete fool out of myself to bring her home. Both options are put on hold when I hear a male voice greeting me on the other end. "So this must be the infamous Damon Salvatore," the stranger begins menacingly. "I'm Connor," the mystery man introduces himself casually. "I'm what you might call a hunting enthusiast, and vampires are my prey of choice. Imagine my good fortune when I caught your girl snacking on a trucker just 60 miles out of town. A little vervain, some help from a useful truth telling herb that I procured from a cooperative witch, and Elena was singing like a canary."

"If you touch her," I warn with all the rage and temper I've ever felt in my long life. "I swear to God," I start to threaten, fully planning to tear this hunter limb from limb.

"Oh, I have no intention of hurting her," Connor interrupts, "much, more," he adds coldly. "That is unless you don't come for her. See boarding a vampire is tricky business. There's what to feed her, how to keep her locked up, so many logistical nightmares. Really I find it best just to put the poor, suffering animal down, which I will do if you and all your little vampy friends aren't here to claim her by sunset. Also in the name of fairness, I should mention this is a trap. I'll text you the address," he states calmly before disconnecting the call. I nearly smash the phone to pieces before I remember that finding Elena's location is dependent on my cell staying intact.

Once the address appears on the screen, I grab my jacket and head for the exit, until a pair of well-manicured hands stop me. "You can't do this all alone," Blondie reminds me, with a smidge more concern than I was expecting. "Did you not hear the part about this being a trap?"

"I heard it. I expected it, duly noted," I reply unconcerned with minor details, like it is a death trap. What does she take me for, a pansy?

"I'm calling Stefan," the worried neurotic informs me, as she presses the first number on _her_ speed dial. I don't even make the comment about how my brother is somehow above her two best friends and her mother.

Against my adamant protests, baby bro tags along on our little save Elena rescue mission, as he repeatedly tries to remind me not to just run in there half-cocked. Once we arrive, our self-appointed plan expert suggests we split up and scout the location. What we find is not terribly encouraging. While this hunter appears without any backup or hopes of escape, he has rigged a pretty good system. I can smell the vervain being pumped into every inch of the barn where Elena is being held. The airborne vervain isn't quite concentrated enough to cause debilitating wounds, but it is enough to make our vampire powers useless, super speed and super strength are out of the question. There's only one way in, and one way out, which Connor is covering with a small arsenal of weapons. It's a suicide mission, and the tragic expression on my brother's face only confirms my suspicions.

"We should call Bonnie," Stefan offers futilely. "She could tip the scales in our favor. She's only four hours away. If we call her, she'll come."

"Connor is only giving us another hour before he skewers Elena with his nearest wooden instrument. So unless Judgy has found a way to _successfully_ raise the dead, your plan sucks," I criticize harshly. Which to anyone else would earn me a solid punch across the face, but Stefan understands _this._ It's Elena, and that's all either of us has to say.

"I didn't come this far just to watch you die," Stefan pleads, playing the brother card for the first time in a long while.

"I have a plan," I promise encouragingly, hoping that he'll stop being so melodramatic and mopey about me possibly dying. "My plan is perfect in its simplicity," I elaborate confidently. "I distract Connor and Blondie can sneak in and pull Elena out. Problem solved," I announce, expecting a little more applause.

Stefan drags me away from his little blonde crush who has been uncharacteristically quiet as she processes what all this truly means. Once we're out of ear shot, my brother lets me have it. "I won't let you do this," Stefan promises boldly, as he grips both of my arms to keep me still. "She'd never survive it if you died for her. _I'd_ never survive it. Please, we'll think of another way. We always do, but I can't let you sacrifice yourself." Stefan's eyes are begging and desperate. Over a hundred and forty five years later, and he's still the same foolish little boy who force fed me my first meal. After all this time, he's still willing to sacrifice everything trying to save me.

I try to avoid the wave of sentimentality that Stefan's emotional pleas awaken, but I can't help but be touched that in the end he put my life before hers. He chose _me_, and I'd be lying if I said that didn't mean something_._ I struggle to put into words what Stefan needs to hear to let me go, but the words flow so effortlessly, no one would think that I have a history of communication issues. "I promised them," I recount distantly. "I made a vow to Elena's parents that I would protect her, with my very life, if necessary, and I have to do this. You know I do. Ask yourself if it was Caroline, would you do anything different?" I see the indecision flash across his face, but I see my answer clear as day.

"I . . . that's not the same," my delusional brother tries to convince me.

"Yeah it is," I argue peacefully, finally seeing the whole picture at last. "One day you'll see it too. Her light is a balance to your doom and gloom. Blondie makes you moderately interesting. She brings out the best in you. So for once in our very long lives, just take my advice little brother, don't wait, because we do not have infinite chances to make things right. Not even immortality can bring us that."

"I'll go instead," Stefan proposes frantically, "Elena needs you. She doesn't need me," he tries admirably to convince me, my naïve baby brother; always trying to fix what he can't change.

"You know I'd never let you," I remind him sadly, neither of us able to face the reality of what's about to happen. "You'll be okay," I comfort him as tears roll down his face. "You'll have a whole life that I need you to really live this time. You and Caroline can take Elena to Australia, and teach her how to kill Tasmanian Devils. Which I'm sure makes no sense to you right now, but Elena'll explain it to you. Caroline can help you with lifting Elena's spirits, and you can do the whole consoling thing, because God knows that was always your area of expertise rather than mine. I know you'll take care of our girl, if not for her than for me, but you have to promise me no more of this free will crap. Love Caroline passionately and selfishly. Love with everything in you. Can you do that for me?" I ask him uncertainly. It is my last request. He'd be kind of douche if he says no.

One more second of this brotherly sentimentality and I might have to feign allergies or possibly pretend there is something caught in my eyes. And just when I think he finally understands, just when I think my grand speech has made an impact, his resolve hardens. "If you want to kill yourself, you'll have to go through me," Stefan stands his ground bravely. It's impossible not to love him a little bit more for that.

"You're a good brother," I remark sincerely, the faintest hint of a tear trailing down my face. "You and Elena are the only thing that made all this worth it. You be sure and tell her that," I whisper in his ear, before snapping his neck effortlessly.

In about five seconds flat, Blondie has me wrestled to the ground with her hand around my neck. "Are you crazy?" Caroline asks perplexed. "Stefan was one of three people in Operation Save Elena, and you just took him out of commission." Her crazy eyes quickly turning to murderous eyes as I've awoken her protective instincts.

"He was going to sacrifice himself to Connor," I offer in explanation. Her grip loosens and I extricate myself from her grasp. "One of us isn't going to make it out of this. For my sake, I won't let it be Elena and it won't be Stefan, and for theirs, I won't let it be you. You follow my plan, or Elena dies. It's that simple," I lay it all out very plainly. "Are you in?"

"What do I need to do?" Caroline asks after a brief pause to stare at me with her big sympathetic puppy dog face. She hates what she has to do, and she hates even more how much this is going to kill Stefan once he comes to, but she knows it's the only way.

"I'll rush in there," I explain calculatedly, trying not to dwell on my part of the plan, "I'll keep the hunter on his toes. You will very stealthily, need to sneak in and pull Elena out. Once you do, get her as far away as possible. Do you understand?"

Blondie nods in agreement and takes one last step until the distance between us is closed. She wraps her arms around my shoulders as she tells me softly, "Elena was right about you. I just needed you to know that."

I smile weakly at the gesture as I speed into the barn to meet my certain death. I comfort myself with the thought that Elena will survive this, even if I don't.

* * *

I've been beaten, tortured, and damn near killed a half a dozen times in the last couple hours. But all I can think of is the fate that awaits my loved ones if they try and save me. He'll come. I know he'll come. Damon could despise me, never want to see me again, but he would fight the whole damn world just to come to my rescue, every time, and this is the first moment that the thought of that doesn't make me feel safe. It petrifies me.

Even in my groggy haze, I hear the commotion going on outside my makeshift dungeon, which given the amount of vervain in the air, isn't anything more than a locked barn stall. I lift myself up just enough to see the action taking place in the corner of the room. _It's Damon_. My heart rises and sinks at the realization. I wince at every blow that the hunter lands and I'm caught in absolute terror at what he will do next. Before I have time to wonder why Damon is here all alone, another familiar face appears outside my cage, and rips open the lock and quietly pulls the door open. Just as I think I'm about to be rescued, a gunshot echoes throughout the room, and I see Caroline drop to the floor, a wooden bullet lodged in her brain, effectively knocking her unconscious. As I stare disbelieving at my friend's almost lifeless body, another shot pierces my leg, preventing me from dragging Caroline out of here and going back to help Damon.

I wait a few more seconds, looking around for Stefan, or any other conceivable backup to come in and save Damon, but I realize that there's no one else. Stefan's MIA, Caroline's unconscious, I've been tortured for hours, only to be shot again, and Damon's in the fight of his life, a fight he appears to be losing. We're all going to die. I realize in startling clarity. We faced down the oldest vampire in the history of time, and a human hunter is going to kill us all. The poetry of it all would be hysterical if the tragedy of it all didn't make me weep. With a painful breath that tastes like battery acid, I softly proclaim, "I love you," as loudly as I can muster before closing my eyes.

Just as the light is fading, I take my first clean breath of air. The vervain is completely gone. Whatever was pumping the poison into the barn appears to have been shut off. While I'm not strong enough to make it more than a few feet, I prop myself up again, and survey the damage that has occurred while I've been out. All I see is Damon strapped to a chair with what I assume are vervain soaked ropes. Connor is standing before him like a cartoon villain about to lay out his entire diabolical plan. "You're going to be my hostage until your brother decides he wants to come out and play," the hunter explains venomously. "I'll bet he's not too far off. Why don't I go find him, then you can just sit there while I jab a stake through your brother, then the blonde one, and your little girlfriend will be next, but you, I'll save for last."

My vampire rage has never been as strong as it is right now. I don't just want to kill this guy. I want to destroy him. Once the bastard leaves, I struggle to crawl out of my makeshift cage as I make my way closer to Damon. The hunter probably thought I wasn't much of a threat after his latest bullet, but he miscalculated my thirst for vengeance. I'm not even halfway to Damon, when I start to hear the hunter circling back. I try to move faster, but my legs are sort of useless, and my strength is non-existent. I'm back to my near hopeless state of depression as I feel a warm wrist being shoved in front of my face. I look up to see none other than April Young offering me her blood casually like she was just lending me milk money. This hunter has faced down three vampires without breaking a sweat and the cavalry is a teenage girl who may or may not hate me today. We're so dead.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	20. Chapter 20

**Well this story is one step closer towards its conclusion. This chapter represents the technical 'end' to the story, but I will be posting an epilogue that will either be one long chapter or two shorter ones. I'll just have to see how it shakes out. I can never thank you all enough for the amazing support I've received for this story. I found out that one of you guys even mentioned this story on Tumblr. I was so touched, so thank you. And thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and alerted this story. **

**Also special thanks to a very special lady who listened to the long rant that was the end of this story, sorry it couldn't be longer. If you haven't yet, go read any story by Cher Sue, it's absolutely worth it, especially her new one called A Woman's Worth. It is a brilliant story of overcoming an abusive relationship and discovering a person's true worth. **

**Anyways, I hope you all enjoy.**

To a vampire, the mere thought of blood was tantalizing, mesmerizing, and all consuming. It was our oxygen, food, and water all wrapped into one. Toss in the addictive qualities of any designer drugs and you might have some idea of what our hunger truly means. So when April shoves her wrist in front of my face urging me to feed from her, it's no small thing. The desire is overwhelming. I've been without blood for hours now, and in the meantime, I've been shot, tortured, and subjected to more than my share of emotional trauma. I don't just want to drink from the pain in the ass teenager, I want to drain her drier than a piece of beef jerky. There's a moment when I swear that I will, until I hear Damon's voice not thirty feet away calling to me. He's suffering, being held in bondage as vervain laced ropes act like acid against his skin. And here I was thinking of myself.

I make a split second decision that requires more strength than I believed myself to possess. "Give it to Damon," I plead with April, my resolve tested with every pulse of blood being pumped through her veins. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear I saw April's face soften at the gesture, but her arm doesn't move an inch.

"Trust me you weren't my first choice," April admits, with far less venom than I'm used to hearing from the newcomer's voice. "Damon's tied up, and I must've left my rope cutters in my other set of pants, so we need someone with vampire strength to fight this hunter guy. Like it or not, it has to be you."

With another few seconds taken to weigh my indecision, I finally clamp down on my willing donor like this is my last meal on Earth, which if my fighting skills aren't up to snuff, it very well might be. The blood passes over my taste buds and reminds me of the sweetest nectar imaginable. Just as I start to hear her heart beat slow, Damon's commanding voice orders me to stop. In the midst of the frenzied bloodlust, his words are the only thing capable of preventing me from adding another member of the Young family to my list of victims. April's pale, shaky, and barely able to stand up, but she's alive. Once I feed her some of my blood, she's good as new, and only occasionally looking at me like I'm a lion and she's the helpless gazelle I'm having for dinner. My predatory instincts are instantly diverted elsewhere as my target inches nearer and nearer into a trap.

The hunter's footsteps grow closer together, and judging by their distance, I've got about thirty seconds before Connor barges in and kills us all. I can't outmatch him in fighting skills, and in the snippets I saw of his fight with Damon, he is impressively strong for a human, so my only chance rests in the element of surprise. I press myself as flatly as possible against the wall of the barn near the entrance. I freeze in place and force April into hiding. I count his steps and just as he is within one foot of the opening, I reach my arm out and dig it into his chest until I feel his pulsing heart. Effective heart removal techniques were never part of Stefan or Damon's vampire curriculum, but somehow it is instinctive. I can hear the sound of the organ's beat, and my hand latches onto it without missing a beat. The shock and rage on Connor's face as I pull his heart from his chest more than satisfies my wish for vengeance.

Just as I'm about to untie Damon from his painful constraints, I hear Caroline regaining consciousness, and with a tortured scream, digging the bullet from the center of her skull. Stefan, who had been completely forgotten in the commotion, awoke from his brief neck snapping nap with a scowl, but no other visible injuries. He stalks over towards Damon, appearing ready to start one of their legendary spats, I assume for whatever events led to Stefan's timeout from my rescue mission. "So you're not dead," Stefan declares to his brother, not taking a clear stance on whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"Nope," Damon replies cockily, trying to get a rise out of his little brother. "I told you I had a plan." Damon's smug exterior evident even at his weakest point. It's only been a few hours and I've missed it terribly. I've missed _him_.

Stefan snickers and stares down at Damon's state of agonizing bondage. "You're tied to a chair and if it wasn't for April, we would've all been horribly murdered . . . so good plan."

"It had a few kinks I'll admit, but I like to focus on results," Damon quips back unconcerned at his brother's growing animosity. I take this moment to step between them both and free Damon, because despite his tough guy act, I can only imagine who much those ropes hurt.

After grabbing April's jacket as a buffer between me and the vervain, I rip the ropes from Damon's body, and his weak condition, causes him to slump off the chair and into my arms. I cradle him there, reveling in the feel of his skin against mine, the rightness of it all. I inhale his scent, and cling to his body's warmth. The others have vacated the immediate vicinity, in favor of giving Damon and I a moment alone, some more begrudgingly than others, as I see April give me the I'll be watching you gesture before leaving us in peace.

Without an audience I feel free to give myself over to the emotions that have tortured me since the whole fight with Connor began. Not thinking of the consequences, or of my previous resolve to let Damon go, I start placing urgent kisses all along his jaw, his lips, and his neck. I crave as much contact as possible to convince me that we're really here, and we're really okay. My damn vampire emotions blur our touching reunion into a sudden sob fest as I allow myself to consider all the what ifs of how this day could have ended very badly. Damon gently rubs the back of his knuckles against my cheek in quiet comfort. "I'm sort of getting mixed signals here," Damon jokes, instantly lightening the mood. "Are we happy or sad that I'm alive, because I've gotten both before?"

I don't even hide the joyful smile as I tug him into a crushing hug. We just hold each other peacefully, and when I feel Damon pull back, I want to resume weeping for an entirely different reason, but he doesn't go far. His right arm is still clasping my back as he speaks softly and tenderly to me, in a way I rarely see from the typically stoic vampire. "I never thought I'd see you again," Damon admits as he stares lovingly back at my tiny waterfall of grateful tears.

Since I apparently have no self-control over my primal urges, I hungrily mash our lips together, doing a damn good reenactment of our passionate coupling the night before. Breathless and lacking all sense of prudence, I ponder the possibility of having sex with Damon right here on this dirty barn floor. But before I embark on another rash decision, there's something I need to say, just once after the Hellish day we've all had. As Damon sucks urgently on my neck, sporadically nicking me with his elongated fangs, I nervously confess for what feels like the hundredth time. "I'm sure I sound like a broken record," I preface my next statement carefully, "And I know how we left things." At this point, I've got Damon's full attention, as he senses the seriousness of the moment. His eyes are connecting with mine as he stares patiently back at me awaiting whatever may come. "I just needed you to know how much I love you."

To my intense relief, he doesn't argue or fight with me. My mind is spinning with all the love and feelings that are consuming me, and I almost miss Damon's reply. "I know, and I love you too."

I keep talking, my brain not yet catching up to Damon's words. "It was absolutely worth all that pesky torture to see you one more . . . wait, what," I stop abruptly as I'm putting the pieces together. "What did you just say?"

Damon grins back with his best cat eating the canary smirk and responds playfully. "I love you, Elena," he announces proudly. "I think we've been over this."

"Not that part," I screech as I resist the urge to smack him hard for joking at a time like this. "The other part, the believing me part." Damon's fingers trace the side of my jaw and push the stray pieces of hair behind my ears as I sit in hopeful disbelief. "We've had a lot of miscommunication in the past," I remind him fearfully, "So I need to hear you say it, just once. That's all I need."

The deal, the offer of our future together hangs precariously in the air, as I once again forget how to breathe. The peace that envelops Damon's face as he cups my cheek is a more welcome sight than I've seen in all my years. The rational part of me knows what's coming, but the skeptic needs the confirmation. With all the feeling ever passed between us, Damon silences all my insecurities and quiets all my fears. "I'm not exactly sure why, but it seems that you're in love with me." And with those simple words, everything else fades away, the past, the pain, and the mistakes. They are rendered meaningless by the only confirmation I'll ever need again.

With more happy tears, falling down my cheeks, I proclaim, "Do you know how long I've waited to hear you say that?"

Damon doesn't miss a beat before answering, "Like a week, right?"

This earns him a swift swat across the chest. "So not the point," I claim as my anger dissipates quickly, and we start to pick up where we left off. Damon's strong arms are rubbing delicate circles against my exposed skin, and I feel alive and on fire all at once. "I knew you'd come for me." He looks pretty pleased with himself, far too pleased in my opinion, so I add sarcastically, "Although your rescue plan could use a little work, seeing as how I ended up having to save _you._"

"Says the vampire saved by the teenage girl," Damon defends, protecting his recently sullied reputation as a bad ass.

"We are not to _ever_ mention that again," I warn, not wanting to relive my humiliation of letting April Young of all people come to my rescue.

"Hey at least you got to chew on her a little bit," Damon offers, looking on the bright side. "I can only imagine how many times you've imagined eating her this week."

"It was a lot," I concede unapologetically. "But in my revenge fantasies, she didn't get back up, because she was dead." My complaints border dangerously on whining, and Damon rolls his eyes at my dislike of his new drinking buddy.

"Seeing as how she did just save all our lives, could you NOT eat her?"

I release a heavy sigh at my new tremendous burden. "Oh fine," I agree unhappily. "The things I do for love."

Before we have a chance to resume our amorous activities, my blonde best friend wanders in with her hand covering her eyes. "Is anyone naked?" Caroline asks worriedly, not wanting to commit that mental picture to her memory.

"No," I answer; disappointed that Damon and I couldn't have sealed our reunion in a barn floor quickie. Caroline quickly yells to Stefan and April that it's safe to enter, since apparently my best friend was acting as their scout to ensure that no one was scarred for life.

Stefan walks right up to his brother, grabs him free from my grasp and punches him squarely across his jaw. "That's for leaving me out of the plan, and for almost getting yourself killed." Normally I'd be angry at Stefan for further injuring his brother so soon after being hurt, but I spot the fear in Stefan's eyes at the thought of losing Damon, and I think better of it. Instead I opt for calm condemnation.

"Can't the two of you ever just use your words?" I question with a hint of disapproval reminding me of my mother scolding me and Jeremy as children.

"Fine," Stefan agrees accommodatingly. "Here's some words, I really enjoyed punching you in the face after your little suicide mission."

Both of the boys are trapped in a test of wills, likely still trying to fight over who's the alpha male between them. It's not until Caroline steps between them that finally blink. "You two need to hug it out," Caroline suggests in all seriousness.

"WHAT?" Damon and Stefan both shout at once. The very idea seems more horrifying to them than the hunter and the vervain ropes.

"Caroline's right," I decide instantly. "Neither of us is willing to put up with this childish fighting all the way home, so we're not leaving until you two hug and make up."

Damon glares back at me, with annoyance and a tiny hint of betrayal written on his face because of my stance on him actually hugging his brother. What a baby?

When the boys realize they don't have a choice, they walk closer to each other, like they're approaching an executioner. In what has to be the most awkward hug ever witnessed, the Salvatore brothers embrace for the first time in their vampire lives. They're stiff and uncomfortable in their movements, but I can't help but smile when they relax for a fraction of a second in each other's arms. Then of course they put as much distance between each other as possible.

Now that Caroline and I are satisfied, we agree to drive back home, and the boys maintain a six foot distance all the way back to the car, as if proximity might result in spontaneous hugging. April takes her own car back, for which I'm grateful, since I'm still not sold on the whole being friendly thing. On the drive back, I'm struck by how unreal this still feels. I'm resting my head against Damon's chest in the backseat of Caroline's car as Stefan tries to casually rest his hand next to Caroline's. I couldn't imagine anything better. Just when I'm convinced this moment could not achieve a higher level of perfection, I hear the lyrics on the radio, and recognize the song as Cosmic Love by Florence & the Machine.

_The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out  
You left me in the dark  
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight  
In the shadow of your heart_

"Turn it up," I order suddenly. Everyone's eyes turn towards me as they are curious about the urgency of a song. "Kiss me," I ask Damon unexpectedly. Not that he's ever opposed to the idea of making out with me, but Damon is skeptical about my impulsive need for PDA.

"Why?" Damon asks, perplexed at my sudden weirdness.

I tilt his chin up and offer my most loving and heartfelt smile. "Because this is exactly how I pictured it," I explain dreamily.

"Sitting in a car with my brother and blondie, after we've both been horribly tortured, that's what your imagination came up with?" Damon summarizes doubtfully.

"Okay, we might've added a few twists on your modern day fairy tale, but the _song_, this song was definitely playing during the kissing happy part."

Damon does his sexy eye thing, and now I know the moment is perfect. "Well if this is your crazy romantic fantasy, we better make it count," he tells me before grabbing the back of my neck forcefully and crushing our lips together. I'm lost in the moment, not thinking about my ex sitting in the front seat, or my best friend who has an extreme aversion to any allusion to Damon and I's passionate activities. She tries desperately to avert her gaze from our loving make out in the back seat, but Stefan has to remind her that driving works best with your eyes open, so I know she caught at least part of the show. The song ends without either of us realizing it, and it's not until the engine is shut off, that Damon and I pry ourselves away from each other.

When Stefan and Caroline are ten feet away from the boardinghouse's entrance, Stefan stops and turns back around. "Caroline and I are going to the grille, and a movie, and possibly anything else for several hours," Stefan declares to Damon and I.

"Since when do you have such an active social life?" Damon taunts good naturedly. The sibling teasing approaching a new level of adorable.

"Since it just occurred to me that listening to my ex-girlfriend and my brother have reunion sex might lead to many years of therapy," Stefan explains, with more humor than I remember from when we were dating. Damon nods in understanding as Stefan and Caroline scamper off excitedly for an afternoon where they hopefully don't have to pretend like they're 'just friends.'

What happens next is fairly predictable. There was lots of moaning, nakedness, and every form of vampire sex that our bodies could withstand. We cycled between slow, sweet, and tender, and rough, destructive, and explosive. Suffice it to say, Damon probably needs to buy a new bed, carpet, shower, really he should just replace the whole damn room and start over.

After hours pass, and the sun no longer shines in the sky, Damon and I finally succumb to exhaustion. Fortunately, while our bodies may need a bit of a break, Damon's wit hasn't taken a time out. "I think sex may kill us," Damon declares, unconcerned. "We're going to keep having sex, and we're going to forget to feed, or even leave this room, and then my little brother will have to explain to yours how we starved to death because of your insatiable need to use my body."

"MY insatiable need," I repeat offended at the suggestion. "I'd say you were holding your own pretty well, but if you think you can stop, by all means, you can leave." I offer him an out, smiling the whole time, because I know nothing short of the house is on fire could get Damon to leave this bed as long as I'm naked in it. He spins me around so that I'm lying on top of him again, and I think I've got my answer. "I'm pretty sure you just proved my point," I add smugly. He's smiling and happy, but for some reason it all disappears when I tell him, "I've got a confession to make." He's suddenly serious. Our little bubble of blissful fun had been nothing short of life affirming, but I can tell there will always be a small part of Damon waiting on the other shoe to drop. Upon seeing his fear, I place a reassuring kiss on his lips before explaining. "I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am."

Damon's face relaxes immediately upon the realization that this was a good confession and not one likely to leave him heartbroken once more. "I'm so thankful for you," I assure him, "for your heart and for your willingness to fight for me. I'm thankful for all of it, and you know the other thing," I add clumsily.

His evil grin only means trouble, but for some reason, I ignore the signs. "And what other thing would that be?" Damon interrogates me playfully.

"Your, you know, your . . . penis," I manage to finish. "I know I said I wanted your heart more, and I do," I promise sincerely. "But I'm also grateful to have _all _of you."

Rather than prolong my embarrassment at the confession, Damon lets me off the hook. "Care to show your gratitude right now Miss Gilbert?" He emphasizes his point by grinding further up against me, until I'm gasping for air.

"And you say I'm insatiable," I scold, feigning indignation. Damon ignores my rebuttal and instead starts in on one of his many rather effective seduction techniques.

"So are you up for a round . . . I forget which number we're on?"

"Somewhere in the double digits," I answer with a seductive chuckle escaping my lips. "But in all seriousness," I state plainly. "Sex with you would definitely be my favorite way to die." As if to prove our point, we don't leave Damon's room till I'm so hungry, I start drinking from Damon just to suppress the urge. I showed my gratitude, over and over again in between whispered I love yous and promises of the future. I wasn't hiding anymore. For the first time in a long while, my life was real.

**As Always Please Read and Review**


	21. Chapter 21

**This story is over. I feel so sad. This has spanned so many months, and now that it's done, SE is over, and DE has a real chance. If you'd told me when I started this that all this would be happening by November, I wouldn't have believed you. This story and this show has been a Hell of a ride, and I cannot thank enough all the people who've gone along with me. The reviewers whose words have touched me, and the friends who've supported me, are more than I ever could have asked for. Thanks as always to the people who reviewed last chapter and to my fantastic beta Cher Sue, who despite what she thinks, did help me with this chapter, even if she doesn't remember it. So anyways, one last time for this story, I hope you all enjoy.**

Historically speaking, vampirism has received a fairly nasty reputation. In nearly every culture around the world, it's seen as a curse, a scourge on mankind. The idea of a tortured existence consumed by an unshakeable addiction paints a bleak and depressing picture for the future. So it's no wonder that I once believed death preferable to such a fate. The reality of eternity, however, was something else entirely; at least it was for me. Over fifty years, I've carried the badge of 'monster' across my chest. I've worn it proudly, no longer bound by the shame of my left over human ideals.

In my half century as a creature of darkness, I've seen mankind's own capacity for evil far surpass my own. I've seen the so called morally 'superior' species pillage their planet, murder the innocent, and allow the corrupt to decide their tragic fates. After watching a lifetime's worth of human atrocities, I finally accept the term 'monster' as entirely relative. We're no more or less flawed than the 'innocent' souls whose blood fuels our existence. Our struggles and triumphs are not so dissimilar from their own. What defines us all is the struggle between our best and our worst selves, a struggle I still face every day.

But I am finally certain, that I don't have to choose between my conscience and my vampiric instincts. I can dabble in the darkness at night, and still hold onto the part of myself that makes me human, my compassion, my ability to love. That is what grounds me when the world of right and wrong falls away. My connection to Damon, to Jeremy, and to all my friends who survived our myriad of supernatural dangers, remind me of who I was and still love me for who I've become.

None of this is meant to suggest that it has been easy, because I left easy behind sometime between dead parents and vampire love triangle. You throw two willful, passionate people together in a relationship, and it is bound to produce some pretty explosive results. My fiery temper for instance, which was moderated by my human sensibilities, at times has proven near uncontrollable as a vampire. And turns out, Damon can be just as much of a stubborn pain in the ass as he was before. And as he likes to remind me, I can be impossibly bull headed when I choose to dig my heels in. There is always that push and pull between us, the never-ending game of tug of war that defines our relationship more than words ever could. Honestly, what's most surprising about my decades long relationship with Damon is how little has truly changed from when we were, friends, enemies, partners in crime, or whatever you want to call the once delicate term of 'us'. Everything is the same as before, except now we seal our reconciliations with makeup sex instead of awkward apologies, a welcome relationship perk in my opinion. And the most pleasing transformation is that Damon's smile comes a little easier every day.

After more than fifty years together, Damon is finally able to admit his stuffed hippo, with yellow skin, and girly pink pajamas, is still the best present he's ever gotten. It's one of the few keepsakes that have survived our many travels, a feat not easily achieved I assure you. Keeping Po spotless and in one piece has been more difficult than fighting my blood lust. Just try imagining keeping a stuffed animal clean in the outback of Australia. The dry cleaning bills alone were highway robbery, but it was worth every penny to remove the Tasmanian Devil's blood from behind Po's ears.

I was of course _unjustly_ accused of the horrific crime of sullying Damon's beloved hippo, but I maintain my innocence, and more than once I've tried to apply the he who smelt it dealt it philosophy to this situation, but Damon seemed unamused for some reason. The whole debacle started after we checked into our hotel in Australia on our first couple's trip out of Mystic Falls, and Damon was chomping at the bit to teach me his prized animal heart ripping trick. The glint of excitement in his eyes was akin to Caroline's enthusiasm over her first tutorial in proper makeup application.

The first snafu came in the form of a public notice warning against the poaching and/or hunting of Tasmanian Devils, seeing as how Damon conveniently forgot to mention they were an endangered species, and protected under Australian law. I was all ready to pull the plug on our outdoor adventure when Damon suggested we just find an old sickly one. That way it wasn't hunting, it was simply helping nature take its proper course; although Damon insisted my tree hugger approved method would be way less fun.

After a lively debate on the merits of thinning the herd, I finally agreed to Damon's 'humane' compromise. We found a group of three Devils fairly quickly, feasting happily on the corpse of a young wombat. My reservations about killing an animal the size of puppy disappeared once I saw the creatures ravenously tearing apart their fellow marsupial. I spotted the weak one first. It inched along slowly with what appeared to be a painful limp. I convinced myself this would be a mercy killing. Surely an injured animal wouldn't survive much longer in the wild of the outback. I'd give the creature a good clean death, one befitting the Devil's gruesome reputation. After provoking the animal with a few gently thrown stones against its hide, the animal took notice of us from behind the brush and began to charge.

Damon whispered last minute instructions in my ear. He advised me to crouch down but plant my feet firmly and concentrate on the sound of the heartbeat. His suggestion reminded me of my father educating me about the fundamentals of softball and him teaching me to always keep my eye on the ball. At Damon's urging, my focus zeroed in on the thumping of the beast's heartbeat. The charge started, and it was a flurry of activity all at once. My opened palm slid past the rough skin of the Devil until I held its heart in my now clenched fist. As it gave its last squeal, I ripped the vital organ from its body, as it collapsed in a heap. Damon gave a rousing cheer of success, and as I got caught up in the celebration, I began jumping up and down like a small child rejoicing over learning how to ride a bike for the first time.

Damon of course took my victory moment to make an inappropriate comment on the rise of my level of hotness after holding a once beating heart in my hand. I smiled despite myself until I glanced down at the pitifully broken soul lying at my feet. It might have been a carnivorous animal, but so was I, and even if my 'hunting' exercise only hastened his demise, I wouldn't have been me if I didn't experience guilt along with exhilaration at what I had accomplished. Damon picked up on the telltale signs of guilt invading my psyche and in a flash he sped back to the car, returning with only a shovel tossed over his shoulder and a sympathetic nod of understanding. "I thought we might need this," Damon acknowledged as he handed over the tool I would use to dig another grave. It was my rule, and Damon knew it well, whatever or whomever I killed, whether it be a vampire, human, or hybrid, I resolved to bury it with dignity. While I never thought my overactive sense of remorse would extend to predatory animals, I knew that I needed to bury the Devil, because I couldn't bear the thought of it being picked apart by scavengers.

After all the dirt digging and burial duties were completed, Damon wrapped a protective arm around my waist and whispered against my hair, "Never forget that you are a warrior, a fighter, and all around bad ass vampire, with a greater heart than any I've ever seen before." I wiped away the stray tear and beamed proudly at his loving praise. With affirmation like that, it's little wonder why I had my dirty little way with him before I even had time to clean the blood and packed on soil staining my clothes. Damon swore the sight of me all bloodied and sweaty in the cargo pants and tank top combo he imagined was almost as sexy as when he took it all off. Needless to say, when you have and incorrigible and ridiculously attractive boyfriend who has vampire stamina backing up his sex appeal, it is difficult to think of anything else. That's why when his lips attacked mine upon our return to our hotel room, my mind wasn't exactly functioning at a reasonably intelligent level.

Damon pushed me back against the bed until gravity pulled me down against the plush comforter and Damon did some pre-sex eye fucking. I grew overheated, and in my attempt to clear the area, I threw Po carelessly off to the side. If stuffed animals really were alive like on Toy Story, I think Po could write a new version of the Kama Sutra based off Damon and I's passionate encounters, but I still felt super creepy having sex with Po's innocent looking eyes staring at us. It was a mere accident that the left over blood from my hand transferred to Po's right ear, but the second Damon spotted the blood, he tensed above me, halting all exploration of my body.

"What?" I asked in confusion, worried about his furrowed brow.

"She's dirty," Damon stated, with an alarming level of concern. Not realizing that he was talking about his one and only stuffed animal, I started scanning the room for the mysterious woman whom Damon apparently believed was in need of a bath. After finding no one, and failing to detect the presence of a human heartbeat, I raised my arms up in confusion.

"Who's dirty?" I questioned in bewilderment. Damon rolled his eyes and moved off me, apparently forgetting all about the sex we were about to have. He picked up his fallen stuffed animal, and raised her up for me to see.

"There's a blood stain behind her right ear," he complained, as he pointed in anger at the nearly undetectable drop of blood.

Perhaps unwisely, I responded, "So?" Not seeing the big deal in one tiny spot that only a vampire could even see.

"SO," he repeated loudly. His voice booming in the hotel room as I witnessed his truly monumental melt down. "Do you know how quickly it takes for a stain to set? We need to go out buy some mild detergent and prewash her ear before that happens. Then we need to find the nearest dry cleaner and see if they can do a rush job." Damon outlined his strategy with the same level of concentration and meticulous preparation as he does with rescue missions or battle plans.

"Seriously?" I asked rhetorically in a state of frustration. "You want to get all clean freaky on me _now_, while I'm seconds away from being naked in your bed?"

Damon stared back, as if confused by the question, and moved right along with his descent into OCD insanity. "I have centuries to have sex with you, Elena. Po's ear is dirty now, so grab your clothes and let's go," he ordered with finality. Despite my huff of aggravation at being denied for the first time, I followed my crazy boyfriend to every dry cleaners in a five mile radius until he found one that met his impeccable standards. Long story short, Po's ear was pristine and immaculate after Damon ordered her to be washed for the third time.

However much to Damon's chagrin, this was certainly not the last time Po's hygiene would be in serious jeopardy. Her greatest threat in the past half century came in the form of a two year old, Jeremy and Bonnie's two year old to be precise. It happened on one of our frequent visits back to Mystic Falls. With all the time spent traveling and setting up roots in new bustling cities where Damon and I's agelessness could go unnoticed, I had nearly forgotten how much had changed in the ten years since I'd become a vampire. As you might have guessed, Bonnie and Jeremy got married, and no one was remotely surprised when it was announced. After a series of nowhere relationships that always brought them back to their on again off again status as 'fun buddies,' they finally admitted that they still loved each other and wanted to give themselves another chance to make it work.

Without the threat of ghostly ex-girlfriend interference, they were surprisingly happy. It certainly didn't hurt that Caroline was on speed dial for any and all couple's crises. My best friend liked to brag that both Bonnie and I would've killed our beloved soul mates if it wasn't for her excellent advice. Turns out, Caroline does in fact do everything better than the rest of us, including relationships. Stefan hasn't been seen without a smile since they _finally_ professed their undying love for each other all those decades ago. I would've thought the sight of them together would have brought up some residual jealousy or a hint of awkwardness, but staring at those two laughing and teasing with each other, I couldn't help sensing the rightness of their love. They were friends, who grounded one another, and had fun together, and somehow in all our craziness and heartbreak, found a way to love each other. The Christmases and Thanksgivings spent together in our own version of abnormal normalcy only confirmed my suspicion that everything was as it should be.

We had all existed in relative harmony until the Christmas when little Emma was nearly four and baby J.J. was not yet two. The cute pint sized munchkins had become my favorite part of coming home for visits. After Bonnie had given birth to Emma, she had named me and Caroline as Co-Godmothers, and the boys became Co-Godfathers seeing as how we sort of came as a package deal. We begrudgingly shared our Godmother duties with April Young while Caroline and I were off traveling, and avoiding being spotted by any leftover members of the council. After a decade of forced socialization with the opinionated brunette, I had finally come to at least respect April and her strong friendship with Damon. I had little choice after her inclusion in our little club became even more permanent once she revealed that she had been secretly seeing Donnie since her senior year. Apparently Donnie was worried about the judgments from the town members about a 22 year old dating an 18 year old who was still in high school. After he found out that I was involved with a man roughly a century and a half older than me, he felt much less like a cradle robber, and they gladly broadcast their relationship.

No one was more thrilled by this revelation than Damon himself. He now had time to tease Donnie during every Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter celebration. Always wary of Damon's surprise attempts at bonding, he liked to maintain a good 8 foot bubble away from Damon, who loved pushing his buttons by picking him off the floor in a crushing hug twice a year. Unsurprisingly, Donnie convinced April to bail on the festivities early each year before Damon got really drunk and started to come onto him for fun.

As funny as Damon and Donnie's bizarre bromance was to watch, I spent most of my time playing with, what I'm convinced are the cutest babies ever created. The tea parties with Emma and the games of chase with J.J. were some of the most rewarding moments of my existence, and Damon seemed to agree, because as much as he hated the idea of anyone seeing him as a big softie, he still ended up in the playroom with the kids most nights. He gave Emma her first teddy bear after she came home from the hospital. I'm convinced he did it as a way to buy her love, so that once she got older and inherited her family's penchant for witchcraft that she wouldn't fry his brain. But Damon's true favorite was J.J. Days after we'd leave home from a visit, Damon would brag to all the people that we met how strong J.J.'s grip was and how he was going to grow up to be a football star, only smarter and cooler. He even carried pictures in his wallet of his favorite nephew. I kept having to remind him that J.J. was his only nephew, but he saw that as irrelevant.

Given his strong attachment to the boy, I'm not surprised he introduced him to Po, since what else are a grown man and a two year old going to bond over except stuffed toys? His only mistake was leaving the two year old alone with his cherished hippo. It all happened in three minutes as Damon was running downstairs to fetch J.J. a snack, and he got distracted dirty flirting with me. Apparently when he returned, the guilty looking toddler had slobbered all over Po's head, leaving a trail of drool from her ears to her snout. Horrified, Damon snatched Po from J.J.'s clutches only to have the toddler burst into tears at the loss of his new favorite toy. Damon tried everything, he offered the boy all the presents and stuffed hippos he could ever want if he just let his Uncle Damon have this one, but the boy inherited the Gilbert stubbornness, and he wasn't to be trifled with.

Luckily this gathering was being held at the boardinghouse, since it had enough room to house a large dinner party for special occasions, so Damon had no end of trinkets to offer his distraught nephew. When he had exhausted all other options, Damon sped into his brother's room and picked up the first kid friendly thing he could find. Unfortunately for Stefan, that was his prized guitar that was personally given to him by Jon Bon Jovi. He placed the instrument in front of the curious young boy, and J.J. started tapping the strings with glee at the pleasant sounds they produced.

Damon's plan worked for all of six minutes until J.J. became too overzealous with his guitar playing and he tried jumping on the guitar to see if it would work using his feet instead of his fingers. Predictably, J.J.'s foot went through the now ruined guitar, and that's when Damon raced down to me in a panic, looking conspiratorially around for any eavesdroppers. "You have to help me with a cover up," he whispered in paranoia.

I whispered right back with a tone of mockery. "Did you uncover a secret government conspiracy? Do we have to go on the run? Because I know what you're thinking, and Bonnie will not let you take J.J. with us," I teased mercilessly. Damon glared back, finding my ill-timed humor terribly unfunny. I finally took pity on him and asked what the major emergency was.

After explaining his rather poor judgment and the disastrous results, I helped Damon dispose of the remains of Stefan's cherished possession and we both confirmed with each other our stories if Stefan ever asked. Sure enough, six hours later, when Stefan wanted to play a Christmas tune for Caroline and he questioned us about its disappearance, Damon and I had perfected our unwavering denial. Stefan didn't need any advanced intuition to realize that one of us had clearly, lost, broken, or stolen it, but he never could prove which one, and he never questioned why Damon had to visit the dry cleaners on Christmas Eve.

Po's unsanitary misfortunes aside, life was as close to perfect as anyone could ever hope for. These moments spent with friends and family, in a house filled with love, were the greatest memories that I've created in all my years. That's why Damon didn't understand at first why I started to cry one day in the nursery as I was dressing J.J. for a play date. As I looked back at him, he was wreaking of guilt and shame, as if he was the sole cause of my tears.

"I'm so sorry," Damon declared as I locked eyes with him. My eyebrows knit together in confusion at his apology.

"What for?" I questioned him, worried at the unwarranted display of remorse.

As he takes a seat on the floor next to me and J.J., he grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly. "Being here must be so hard for you," he reflected solemnly. "As much as we love J.J. and Emma, they're not ours. All they do is remind you of what I can never give to you, of what I took from you," Damon surmised, regretfully. His face was pained, tortured, as he stared at me in sorrow. "I never was one for regrets. What's past is past and dwelling on mistakes I find to be both time consuming and pointless. But if there was ever a regret worth punishing myself over, it would be depriving you of a chance to be a mother, because you sacrificed yourself for me."

In the ten years since I sliced that utility knife through my carotid artery, I'd never given it a second thought. Damon was alive, and so was I, so everything else seemed unimportant. I had missed so many signs that the guilt of that night still plagued Damon. I placed J.J. in the playpen and sat back down in front of broken looking man sitting before me. I cupped his face in my hands as I spoke truthfully and sincerely to the man whom I had happily shared this wonderful life with over the past decade, and I opened up about something we had never talked about.

"I wasn't crying because I regret giving up my humanity to save you," I vowed resolutely. "I was crying because as much as we love these beautiful children, one day they're going to grow up. They're going to grow old, and then they're going to die. Bonnie, Jeremy, Matt, and all their children will one day die too, and I'll have to stand at every casket to say goodbye. I have never once wavered in my belief that an eternity with you is worth the sacrifices, but that doesn't mean that the price of our existence hurts any less."

A wave of understanding consumed Damon in an instant, and he placed a tender kiss on my forehead as he held me against his chest. "Yes they will," he finally admitted, adding a few extra tears to the ones currently falling down my cheeks. "You'll attend too many funerals in the lifetimes we have together. I don't want to lie to you, or sugar coat this, because it will hurt like Hell, and they're lying when they say it gets easier, because it doesn't. You just get better at masking the pain." So to summarize, Damon should never take a job as a motivational speaker.

Upon hearing Damon's cheery outlook for my future, I questioned why this depressing chat was necessary when I was already fighting back tears. "Nice pep talk," I chimed in sarcastically. "Might be a tad heavy on the doom and gloom, but I love you for the effort," I offered encouragingly, since I was sure Damon was truly trying his best.

"That wasn't the end of the speech," he defended, shocked at my lack of faith in his cheering up skills. "What I was going to say is that there is an upside," he promised optimistically. "You will see so much death, but you will also witness so much life. J.J. and Emma will grow up, and they'll have children of their own, and then their children will have children. You'll witness generations of baby Gilberts living their lives, falling in love, and experiencing more than any mere human could ever hope for. Being a vampire is living through life's greatest and worst moments in brilliant color, while the rest of the world is stuck with a dull grey." He pushed back my hair, and wiped away my tears as he placed a lingering kiss on my lips, leaving me wanting more. Prying our mouths apart, Damon imparted one last bit of wisdom that brought a smile back to my face and a light back to my eyes. "And for whatever it's worth, our life together makes all those bad moments worth it, at least for me," Damon confessed openly.

I intertwined our fingers in an unbreakable bond and replied, "Me too." After seeing the doubt behind his façade, I added, "Dying for you was and will always be the best choice I ever made." Sadly, the stolen moment of love and promises was broken by the sounds of the wailing toddler who was feeling neglected during the all-important soul searching. Damon picked up J.J. into his arms and carried him down the stairs to rejoin our bizarre group we called a family.

In the forty years following that Christmas, life regained a sense of normalcy, at least as normal as a vampire's life ever becomes. Damon and I settled in Chicago for a while, and on one of his many birthdays, that he tried to convince me we didn't need to celebrate, I brought him an antique piano for our living room. At first he only played it because of the memories that it brought him of his mother, and then he played it to make me smile, but after a few years, he recaptured his love of the music, and finally started to do something for himself.

After decades of fun filled adventures and travels, I craved a sense of productivity once more, so I turned to my old, forgotten passion of writing. Initially, it was just freelance stuff, mostly for blogs and online news sites. But after so many years of inspiration, I finally had the courage to pen my first novel. I knew I could never publish it under my own name, since any media scrutiny would dig up some rather difficult to answer questions about my past, and my flawless upkeep of my teenage appearance for a 68 year old woman.

But even if it couldn't be my name on the cover, I wanted it to be published. Because as someone who's lived almost the entire span of a human lifetime, I have too much to say to remain silent any longer.

After weeks locked away in my home office, furiously typing away on my computer, Damon sneaks in to see what I've been working on, because apparently the curiosity is eating him alive. He cozies up to me and starts nibbling on my ear, as he distracts me mid-sentence. "What's our rule about interrupting me while I'm working?" I breathlessly ask him, not truly that upset by the disruption.

"Don't do it," Damon repeats in annoyance at my pesky rules that keep me from amusing him whenever he wants. "Well will you at least tell me what you're working on? We have 8,000 channels, and I swear nothing good is on."

I roll my eyes at his eight year old attention span. "If you insist," I relent. "I'm writing a love story," I explain, as I turn my laptop over to his watchful gaze.

"An epic love story," Damon remarks skeptically, not typically one for reading the sappy stuff, and usually making fun of me for my literary tastes. "So what are you rewriting a modern take on Romeo Juliet?" He tosses out, since I know his distaste for the lack of originality in modern entertainment.

"Nope, this love story is much better than that," I assure him confidently.

"Really, you think you can outdo a classic Miss Gilbert? Someone has developed a writer's superiority complex," he mocks playfully with that evil teasing glint in his eyes.

"I can top the classics, because I'm writing a true love story." Damon regards me curiously as he tries to piece together what I'm saying. "I'm writing our love story," I tell him affectionately, with a proud smile on my face.

He is taken aback for a second, as he digests the news. I then add in a little humor by mentioning, "I just had to take out all the vampires, werewolves, and all the supernatural stuff, so as not to rouse suspicion."

He chuckles at my attempt at humor; even he admits I've gotten funnier over the years. "So basically you've spent weeks writing a story that could fill a pamphlet?" He pokes fun happily. "What's left if you take out all the danger, near death experiences, and monsters?"

"Us," I answer simply, "And that's more than enough for a truly beautiful story." He kisses me a few times in appreciation for my lovey dovey sentiment, and leaves me to my work. After weeks and weeks of tireless writing, the story was almost completed. All it lacked was an ending. I stayed up nights, distracted myself with outside excursions, but I couldn't find a fitting tribute to conclude Damon and I's story.

It wasn't until our fiftieth anniversary that the inspiration came flying back. Damon bought me a gorgeous, white gold ring with diamonds accentuating the beautiful band. It was meant to celebrate our golden anniversary, and he had an engraving on the inside with the simple words _you're my always_ carved into the metal. After a refreshing evening of fine wine, good food, and more spectacular sex than anyone celebrating their fiftieth has ever had before, I am awake and ready to finish my novel. I hunker down at my computer and write the final words to my months' long project, decades in the making. All I write are three sentences, nothing complex or convoluted, just a simple truth that I've learned over the years.

_True love stories have no end. They extend on forever in all directions, more powerful than death, more powerful than time, and more powerful than the forces that seek to separate them. This story can never have an end, only the start of new beginnings._

**As Always Please Read and Review**


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